*t.-        «-"4' 


GOOD   INDIAN 


A  figure  detached  itself  from  the  blot  of  darkness,  and  stood  almost  at 
his  stirrup.     FRONTISPIECE.     See  page  111. 


GOOD    INDIAN 


BY 

B.  M.  BOWER 

Author  of  "Lonesome  Land,"  "Chip,  of  the 
Flying  U,"  etc. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 
ANTON  OTTO  FISCHER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 
1912 


Copyright,  1912, 
By  LITTLE,  BROWN  AND  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 
Published,  September,  1912 


grfnttra 
8.  J.  PAEKHILL  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


1 


Vie/. 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  PEACEFUL  HART  RANCH 1 

II  GOOD  INDIAN 8 

III  OLD  WIVES'  TALES 23 

IV  THE  CHRISTMAS  ANGEL 44 

V  "I  DON'T  CARE  MUCH  ABOUT  GIRLS  "    .  54 

VI  THE  CHRISTMAS  ANGEL  PLAYS  GHOST     .  66 

VII  Miss  GEORGIE  HOWARD,  OPERATOR    .      .  81 

VIII  THE  AMIABLE  ANGLER 100 

IX  PEPPAJEE  JIM  "  HEAP  SABES  "...  106 

X  MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS 115 

XI  "  You  CAN'T  PLAY  WITH  ME  "    .      .      .  125 

XII  "  THEM  DAMN'  SNAKE  " 140 

XIII  CLOUD-SIGN  VERSUS  CUPID     ....  153 

XIV  THE  CLAIM-JUMPERS 168 

XV  SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF  HEAP  SMART       .  187 

XVI  "  DON'T  GET  EXCITED  !  "       ....  207 

XVII  A  LITTLE  TARGET  PRACTICE  .  226 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII  A  SHOT  FROM  THE  RiM-Rocx       .      .  242 

XIX  EVADNA  GOES  CALLING       ....  260 

XX  Miss  GEORGIE  ALSO  MAKES  A  CALL       .  272 

XXI  SOMEBODY  SHOT  SAUNDERS     .      .      .  288 

XXII  A  BIT  OF  PAPER 302 

XXIII  THE  MALICE  OF  A  SQUAW  ....  315 

XXIV  PEACEFUL  RETURNS 328 

XXV  "  I  'D  JUST  AS  SOON  HANG  FOR  NINE 

MEN  AS   FOR  ONE  " 341 

XXVI  "  WHEN  THE  SUN  GOES  AWAY  "    .      .  349 

XXVII  LIFE  ADJUSTS  ITSELF  AGAIN  TO  SMALL 

THINGS  361 


List  of  Illustrations 

A  figure  detached  itself  from  the  blot  of 
darkness,  and  stood  almost  at  his 
stirrup Frontispiece 

She  struggled  weakly  to  free  herself,  and 

his  clasp  only  tightened  jealously    .      PAGE    134 

Miss  Georgie  gave  a  most  unexpected  sob         "       294 

Another  gun  spoke  then,  and  Baumberger 

collapsed  in  the  sand "       343 


Good  Indian 

CHAPTER  I 

PEACEFUL  HAKT  BANCH 

IT  was  somewhere  in  the  seventies  when  old  Peaceful 
Hart  woke  to  a  realization  that  gold-hunting  and 
lumbago  do  not  take  kindly  to  one  another,  and  the 
fact  that  his  pipe  and  dim-eyed  meditation  appealed  to 
him  more  keenly  than  did  his  prospector's  pick  and 
shovel  and  pan  seemed  to  imply  that  he  was  growing 
old.  He  was  a  silent  man,  by  occupation  and  by  nature, 
so  he  said  nothing  about  it;  but,  like  the  wild  things 
of  prairie  and  wood,  instinctively  began  preparing  for 
the  winter  of  his  life.  Where  he  had  lately  been  wash- 
ing tentatively  the  sand  along  Snake  River,  he  built  a 
ranch.  His  prospector's  tools  he  used  in  digging  ditches 
to  irrigate  his  new-made  meadows,  and  his  mining  days 
he  lived  over  again  only  in  halting  recital  to  his  sons 
when  they  clamored  for  details  of  the  old  days  when 
the  Indians  were  not  mere  untidy  neighbors  to  be  gos- 
siped with  and  fed,  but  enemies  to  be  fought,  upon 
occasion, 


2  GOOD    INDIAN 

They  felt  that  fate  had  cheated  them  —  did  those 
five  sons;  for  they  had  been  born  a  few  years  too  late 
for  the  fun.  Not  one  of  them  would  ever  have  earned 
the  title  of  "  Peaceful,"  as  had  his  father.  Nature  had 
played  a  joke  upon  old  Peaceful  Hart;  for  he,  the 
mildest-mannered  man  who  ever  helped  to  tame  the 
West  when  it  really  needed  taming,  had  somehow 
fathered  five  riotous  young  males  to  whom  fight  meant 
fun  —  and  the  fiercer,  the  funnier. 

He  used  to  suck  at  his  old,  straight-stemmed  pipe 
and  regard  them  with  a  bewildered  curiosity  some- 
times; but  he  never  tried  to  put  his  puzzlement  into 
speech.  The  nearest  he  ever  came  to  elucidation,  per- 
haps, was  when  he  turned  from  them  and  let  his  pale- 
blue  eyes  dwell  speculatively  upon  the  face  of  his  wife, 
Phoebe.  Clearly  he  considered  that  she  was  responsi- 
ble for  their  dispositions. 

The  house  stood  cuddled  against  a  rocky  bluff  so  high 
it  dwarfed  the  whole  ranch  to  pygmy  size  when  one 
gazed  down  from  the  rim,  and  so  steep  that  one  won- 
dered how  the  huge,  gray  bowlders  managed  to  perch 
upon  its  side  instead  of  rolling  down  and  crushing  the 
buildings  to  dust  and  fragments.  Strangers  used  to 
keep  a  wary  eye  upon  that  bluff,  as  if  they  never  felt 
quite  safe  from  its  menace.  Coyotes  skulked  there, 
and  tarantulas  and  "  bobcats  "  and  snakes.  Once  an 


PEACEFUL  HART   RANCH       3 

outlaw  hid  there  for  days,  within  sight  and  hearing  of 
the  house,  and  stole  bread  from  Phoebe's  pantry  at 
night  —  but  that  is  a  story  in  itself. 

A  great  spring  gurgled  out  from  under  a  huge  bowl- 
der just  behind  the  house,  and  over  it  Peaceful  had 
built  a  stone  milk  house,  where  Phoebe  spent  long  hours 
in  cool  retirement  on  churning  day,  and  where  one 
went  to  beg  good  things  to  eat  and  to  drink.  There  was 
fruit  cake  always  hidden  away  in  stone  jars,  and  cheese, 
and  buttermilk,  and  cream. 

Peaceful  Hart  must  have  had  a  streak  of  poetry 
somewhere  hidden  away  in  his  silent  soul.  He  built  a 
pond  against  the  bluff;  hollowed  it  out  from  the  sand 
he  had  once  washed  for  traces  of  gold,  and  let  the  big 
spring  fill  it  full  and  seek  an  outlet  at  the  far  end, 
where  it  slid  away  under  a  little  stone  bridge.  He 
planted  the  pond  with  rainbow  trout,  and  on  the  mar- 
gin a  rampart  of  Lombardy  poplars,  which  grew  and 
grew  until  they  threatened  to  reach  up  and  tear  ragged 
holes  in  the  drifting  clouds.  Their  slender  shadows 
lay,  like  gigantic  fingers,  far  up  the  bluff  when  the  sun 
sank  low  in  the  afternoon. 

Behind  them  grew  a  small  jungle  of  trees  —  catalpa 
and  locust  among  them  —  a  jungle  which  surrounded 
the  house,  and  in  summer  hid  it  from  sight  entirely. 

With  the  spring  creek  whispering  through  the  grove 


4  GOOD    INDIAN 

and  away  to  where  it  was  defiled  by  trampling  hoofs 
in  the  corrals  and  pastures  beyond,  and  with  the  roses 
which  Phoebe  Hart  kept  abloom  until  the  .frosts  came, 
and  the  bees,  and  humming-birds  which  somehow  found 
their  way  across  the  parched  sagebrush  plains  and  fore- 
gathered there,  Peaceful  Hart's  ranch  betrayed  his 
secret  longing  for  girls,  as  if  he  had  unconsciously 
planned  it  for  the  daughters  he  had  been  denied. 

It  was  an  ideal  place  for  hammocks  and  romance  — 
a  place  where  dainty  maidens  might  dream  their  way  to 
womanhood.  And  Peaceful  Hart,  when  all  was  done, 
grew  old  watching  five  full-blooded  boys  clicking  their 
heels  unromantically  together  as  they  roosted  upon  the 
porch,  and  threw  cigarette  stubs  at  the  water  lilies  while 
they  wrangled  amiably  over  the  merits  of  their  mounts ; 
saw  them  drag  their  blankets  out  into  the  broody  dusk 
of  the  grove  when  the  nights  were  hot,  and  heard  their 
muffled  swearing  under  their  "  tarps  "  because  of  the 
mosquitoes  which  kept  the  night  air  twanging  like  a 
stricken  harp  string  with  their  song. 

They  liked  the  place  well  enough.  There  were  plenty 
of  shady  places  to  lie  and  smoke  in  when  the  mercury 
went  sizzling  up  its  tiny  tube.  Sometimes,  when  there 
was  a  dance,  they  would  choose  the  best  of  Phoebe's 
roses  to  decorate  their  horses'  bridles ;  and  perhaps 
their  hatbands,  also.  Peaceful  would  then  suck  harder 


PEACEFUL   HART   RANCH       5 

than  ever  at  his  pipe,  and  his  faded  blue  eyes  would 
wander  pathetically  about  the  little  paradise  of  his  mak- 
ing, as  if  he  wondered  whether,  after  all,  it  had  been 
worth  while. 

A  tight  picket  fence,  built  in  three  unswerving  lines 
from  the  post  planted  solidly  in  a  cairn  of  rocks  against 
a  bowlder  on  the  eastern  rim  of  the  pond,  to  the  road 
which  cut  straight  through  the  ranch,  down  that  to  the 
farthest  tree  of  the  grove,  then  back  to  the  bluff  again, 
shut  in  that  tribute  to  the  sentimental  side  of  Peace- 
ful's  nature.  Outside  the  fence  dwelt  sturdier,  Western 
realities. 

Once  the  gate  swung  shut  upon  the  grove  one  blinked 
in  the  garish  sunlight  of  the  plains.  There  began  the 
real  ranch  world.  There  was  the  pile  of  sagebrush 
fuel,  all  twisted  and  gray,  pungent  as  a  bottle  of  spilled 
liniment,  where  braided,  blanketed  bucks  were  some- 
times prevailed  upon  to  labor  desultorily  with  an  ax  in 
hope  of  being  rewarded  with  fruit  new-gathered  from 
the  orchard  or  a  place  at  Phoebe's  long  table  in  the  great 
kitchen. 

There  was  the  stone  blacksmith  shop,  where  the  boys 
sweated  over  the  nice  adjustment  of  shoes  upon  the  feet 
of  fighting,  wild-eyed  horses,  which  afterward  would 
furnish  a  spectacle  of  unseemly  behavior  under  the 
saddle. 


6  GOOD    INDIAN 

Farther  away  were  the  long  stable,  the  corrals  where 
broncho-taming  was  simply  so  much  work  to  be  per- 
formed, hayfields,  an  orchard  or  two,  then  rocks  and 
sand  and  sage  which  grayed  the  earth  to  the  very  sky- 
line. 

A  glint  of  slithering  green  showed  where  the  Snake 
hugged  the  bluff  a  mile  away,  and  a  brown  trail,  ankle- 
deep  in  dust,  stretched  straight  out  to  the  west,  and 
then  lost  itself  unexpectedly  behind  a  sharp,  jutting 
point  of  rocks  where  the  bluff  had  thrust  out  a  rugged 
finger  into  the  valley. 

By  devious  turnings  and  breath-taking  climbs,  the 
trail  finally  reached  the  top  at  the  only  point  for  miles 
where  it  was  possible  for  a  horseman  to  pass  up  or 
down. 

Then  began  the  desert,  a  great  stretch  of  unlovely 
sage  and  lava  rock  and  sand  for  mile  upon  mile,  to 
where  the  distant  mountain  ridges  reached  out  and 
halted  peremptorily  the  ugly  sweep  of  it.  The  rail- 
road gashed  it  boldly,  after  the  manner  of  the  iron  trail 
of  modern  industry;  but  the  trails  of  the  desert  dwell- 
ers wound  through  it  diffidently,  avoiding  the  rough 
crust  of  lava  rock  where  they  might,  dodging  the  most 
aggressive  sagebrush  and  dipping  tentatively  into  hol- 
lows, seeking  always  the  easiest  way  to  reach  some 
remote  settlement  or  ranch. 


PEACEFUL   HART   RANCH       7 

Of  the  men  who  followed  those  trails,  not  one  of  them 
but  could  have  ridden  straight  to  the  Peaceful  Hart 
ranch  in  black  darkness;  and  there  were  few,  indeed, 
white  men  or  Indians,  who  could  have  ridden  there 
at  midnight  and  not  been  sure  of  blankets  and  a  wel- 
come to  sweeten  their  sleep.  Such  was  the  Peaceful 
Hart  Kanch,  conjured  from  the  sage  and  the  sand  in 
the  valley  of  the  Snake. 


CHAPTER  H 

GOOD   INDIAN 

THERE  is  a  saying  —  and  if  it  is  not  purely  West- 
ern, it  is  at  least  purely  American  —  that  the  only 
good  Indian  is  a  dead  Indian.  In  the  very  teeth  of 
that,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  neither  very 
good,  nor  an  Indian  —  nor  in  any  sense  "  dead  "  — 
men  called  Grant  Imsen  "  Good  Indian  "  to  his  face ; 
and  if  he  resented  the  title,  his  resentment  was  never 
made  manifest  —  perhaps  because  he  had  grown  up  with 
the  name,  had  rather  liked  it  when  he  was  a  little  fel- 
low, and  with  custom  had  come  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

Because  his  paternal  ancestry  went  back,  and  back 
to  no  one  knows  where  among  the  race  of  blue  eyes 
and  fair  skin,  the  Indians  repudiated  relationship  with 
him,  and  called  him  white  man — though  they  also 
spoke  of  him  unthinkingly  as  "  Good  Injun." 

Because  old  Wolfbelly  himself  would  grudgingly  ad- 
mit under  pressure  that  the  mother  of  Grant  had  been 
the  half-caste  daughter  of  Wolfbelly's  sister,  white 
men  remembered  the  taint  when  they  were  angry,  and 


GOOD   INDIAN  9 

called  him  Injun.  And  because  he  stood  thus  between 
the  two  races  of  men,  his  exact  social  status  a  subject 
always  open  to  argument,  not  even  the  fact  that  he  was 
looked  upon  by  the  Harts  as  one  of  the  family, 
with  his  own  bed  always  ready  for  him  in  a  corner 
of  the  big  room  set  apart  for  the  boys,  and  with  a  certain 
place  at  the  table  which  was  called  his  —  not  even  his 
assured  position  there  could  keep  him  from  sometimes 
feeling  quite  alone,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  bitter  over  his 
loneliness. 

Phrebe  Hart  had  mothered  him  from  the  time  when 
his  father  had  sickened  and  died  in  her  house,  leaving 
Grant  there  with  twelve  years  behind  him,  in  his  hands 
a  dirty  canvas  bag  of  gold  coin  so  heavy  he  could 
scarce  lift  it,  which  stood  for  the  mining  claim  the  old 
man  had  just  sold,  and  the  command  to  invest  every 
one  of  the  gold  coins  in  schooling. 

Old  John  Imsen  was  steeped  in  knowledge  of  the 
open;  nothing  of  the  great  outdoors  had  ever  slipped 
past  him  and  remained  mysterious.  But  when  he 
sold  his  last  claim  —  others  he  had  which  prom- 
ised little  and  so  did  not  count  —  he  had  signed 
his  name  with  an  X.  Another  had  written  the  word 
John  before  that  X,  and  the  word  Imsen  after;  above, 
a  word  which  he  explained  was  "  his,"  and  below  the 
word  "  mark."  John  Imsen  had  stared  down  suspi- 


10  GOOD    INDIAN 

ciously  at  the  words,  and  he  had  not  felt  quite  easy  in 
his  mind  until  the  bag  of  gold  coins  was  actually  in 
his  keeping.  Also,  he  had  been  ashamed  of  that  X. 
It  was  a  simple  thing  to  make  with  a  pen,  and  yet  he 
had  only  succeeded  in  making  it  look  like  two  crooked 
sticks  thrown  down  carelessly,  one  upon  the  other.  His 
face  had  gone  darkly  red  with  the  shame  of  it,  and  he 
had  stood  scowling  down  at  the  paper. 

"  That  boy  uh  mine  's  goin'  to  do  better  'n  that,  by 
God !  "  he  had  sworn,  and  the  words  had  sounded  like  a 
vow. 

When,  two  months  after  that,  he  had  faced  —  in- 
credulously, as  is  the  way  with  strong  men  —  the  fact 
that  for  him  life  was  over,  with  nothing  left  to  him 
save  an  hour  or  so  of  labored  breath  and  a  few  mut- 
tered sentences,  he  did  not  forget  that  vow.  He  called 
Phoebe  close  to  the  bed,  placed  the  bag  of  gold  in 
Grant's  trembling  hands,  and  stared  intently  from  one 
face  to  the  other. 

"  Mis'  Hart,  he  ain't  got  —  anybody  —  my  folks  —  I 
lost  track  of  'em  years  ago.  You  see  to  it  —  git  some 
learnin'  in  his  head.  When  a  man  knows  books  —  it 's 
like  bein'  heeled  —  good  gun  —  plenty  uh  ca't'idges  — 
in  a  fight.  When  I  got  that  gold  —  it  was  like  fightin' 
with  my  bare  hands  —  against  a  gatlin'  gun.  They 
coulda  cheated  me  —  whole  thing  —  on  paper  —  I 


GOOD    INDIAN  11 

would  n't  know  —  luck  —  just  luck  they  did  n't.  So 
you  take  it  —  and  git  the  boy  schoolin'.  Costs  money 
—  I  know  that  —  git  him  all  it  '11  buy.  Send  him  — 
where  they  keep  —  the  best.  Don't  yuh  let  up  —  ner  let 
him  —  whilst  they  's  a  dollar  left.  Put  it  all  —  into  his 
head  —  then  he  can't  lose  it,  and  he  can  —  make  it  earn 
more.  An'  —  I  guess  I  need  n't  ask  yuh  —  be  good  to 
him.  He  ain't  got  anybody  —  not  a  soul  —  Injuns  don't 
count.  You  see  to  it  —  don't  let  up  till  —  it 's  all 
gone." 

Phoebe  had  taken  him  literally.  And  Grant,  if  he 
had  little  taste  for  the  task,  had  learned  books  and  other 
things  not  mentioned  in  the  curriculums  of  the  schools 
she  sent  him  to  —  and  when  the  bag  was  reported  by 
Phoebe  to  be  empty,  he  had  returned  with  inward  relief 
to  the  desultory  life  of  the  Hart  ranch  and  its  imme- 
diate vicinity. 

His  father  would  probably  have  been  amazed  to  see 
how  little  difference  that  schooling  made  in  the  boy. 
The  money  had  lasted  long  enough  to  take  him  through 
a  preparatory  school  and  into  the  second  year  of  a  col- 
lege; and  the  only  result  apparent  was  speech  a  shade 
less  slipshod  than  that  of  his  fellows,  and  a  vocabulary 
which  permitted  him  to  indulge  in  an  amazing  number 
of  epithets  and  in  colorful  vituperation  when  the  fancy 
seized  him. 


12  GOOD    INDIAN 

He  rode,  hot  and  thirsty  and  tired,  from  Sage  Hill 
one  day  and  found  Hartley  empty  of  interest,  hot  as 
the  trail  he  had  just  now  left  thankfully  behind  him, 
and  so  absolutely  sleepy  that  it  seemed  likely  to  sink 
into  the  sage-clothed  earth  under  the  weight  of  its  own 
dullness.  Even  the  whisky  was  so  warm  it  burned 
like  fire,  and  the  beer  he  tried  left  upon  his  outraged 
palate  the  unhappy  memory  of  insipid  warmth  and 
great  bitterness. 

He  plumped  the  heavy  glass  down  upon  the  grimy 
counter  in  the  dusty  far  corner  of  the  little  store  and 
stared  sourly  at  Pete  Hamilton,  who  was  apathetically 
opening  hatboxes  for  the  inspection  of  an  Indian  in  a 
red  blanket  and  frowsy  braids. 

"  How  much  ? "  The  braided  one  fingered  inde- 
cisively the  broad  brim  of  a  gray  sombrero. 

"  Nine  dollars."  Pete  leaned  heavily  against  the 
shelves  behind  him  and  sighed  with  the  weariness  of 
mere  living. 

"  Huh !  All  same  buy  one  good  hoss."  The  braided 
one  dropped  the  hat,  hitched  his  blanket  over  his  shoul- 
der in  stoical  disregard  of  the  heat,  and  turned  away. 

Pete  replaced  the  cover,  seemed  about  to  place  the 
box  upon  the  shelf  behind  him,  and  then  evidently 
decided  that  it  was  not  worth  the  effort.  He  sighed 
again. 


GOOD    INDIAN  13 

"  It 's  almighty  hot,"  he  mumbled  languidly.  "  Want 
another  drink,  Good  Injun  ? " 

"  I  do  not.  Hot  toddy  never  did  appeal  to  me,  my 
friend.  If  you  were  n't  too  lazy  to  give  orders,  Pete, 
you  'd  have  cold  beer  for  a  day  like  this.  You  'd  give 
Saunders  something  to  do  beside  lie  in  the  shade  and 
tell  what  kind  of  a  man  he  used  to  be  before  his  lungs 
went  to  the  bad.  Put  him  to  work.  Make  him  pack 
this  stuff  down  cellar  where  it  is  n't  two  hundred  in  the 
shade.  Why  don't  you  ?  " 

"  We  was  going  to  get  ice  t'-day,  but  they  did  n't 
throw  it  off  when  the  train  went  through." 

"  That 's  comforting  —  to  a  man  with  a  thirst  like  the 
great  Sahara.  Ice !  Pete,  do  you  know  what  I  'd  like 
to  do  to  a  man  that  mentions  ice  after  a  drink  like 
that?" 

Pete  neither  knew  nor  wanted  to  know,  and  he  told 
Grant  so.  "  If  you  're  going  down  to  the  ranch,"  he 
added,  by  way  of  changing  the  subject,  "  there  's  some 
mail  you  might  as  well  take  along." 

"  Sure,  I  'm  going  —  for  a  drink  out  of  that  spring, 
if  nothing  else.  You  've  lost  a  good  customer  to-day, 
Pete.  I  rode  up  here  prepared  to  get  sinfully  jagged  — 
and  here  I  've  got  to  go  on  a  still  hunt  for  water  with  a 
chill  to  it  —  or  maybe  buttermilk.  Pete,  do  you  know 
what  I  think  of  you  and  your  joint  ?  " 


14  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  I  told  you  I  don't  wanta  know.  Some  folks  ain't 
never  satisfied.  A  fellow  that 's  rode  thirty  or  forty 
miles  to  get  here,  on  a  day  like  this,  had  oughta  be 
glad  to  get  anything  that  looks  like  beer." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  Grant  walked  purposefully  down 
to  the  front  of  the  store,  where  Pete  was  fumbling 
behind  the  rampart  of  crude  pigeonholes  which  was  the 
post-office.  "  Let  me  inform  you,  then,  that  — " 

There  was  a  swish  of  skirts  upon  the  rough  platform 
outside,  and  a  young  woman  entered  with  the  manner 
of  feeling  perfectly  at  home  there.  She  was  rather  tall, 
rather  strong  and  capable  looking,  and  she  was  bare- 
headed, and  carried  a  door  key  suspended  from  a 
smooth-worn  bit  of  wood. 

"  Don't  get  into  a  perspiration  making  up  the  mail, 
Pete,"  she  advised  calmly,  quite  ignoring  both  Grant 
and  the  Indian.  "  Fifteen  is  an  hour  late  —  as  usual. 
Jockey  Bates  always  seems  to  be  under  the  impression 
he  's  an  undertaker's  assistant,  and  is  headed  for  the 
graveyard  when  he  takes  fifteen  out.  He  '11  get  the  can, 
first  he  knows  —  and  he  '11  put  in  a  month  or  two  won- 
dering why.  I  could  make  better  time  than  he  does 
myself."  By  then  she  was  leaning  with  both  elbows 
upon  the  counter  beside  the  post-office,  bored  beyond 
words  with  life  as  it  must  be  lived  —  to  judge  from  her 
tone  and  her  attitude. 


GOOD   INDIAN  15 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Pete,"  she  went  on  languidly, 
"  can't  you  scare  up  a  novel,  or  chocolates,  or  gum,  or 
—  anything  to  kill  time  ?  I  'd  even  enjoy  chewing  gum 
right  now  —  it  would  give  my  jaws  something  to  think 
of,  anyway." 

Pete,  grinning  indulgently,  came  out  of  retirement 
behind  the  pigeonholes,  and  looked  inquiringly  around 
the  store. 

"  I  've  got  cards,"  he  suggested.  "  What 's  the  matter 
with  a  game  of  solitary  ?  I  've  known  men  to  put  in 
hull  winters  alone,  up  in  the  mountains,  jest  eating  and 
sleeping  and  playin'  solitary." 

The  young  woman  made  a  grimace  of  disgust.  "  I  've 
come  from  three  solid  hours  of  it.  What  I  really  do 
want  is  something  to  read.  Have  n't  you  even  got  an 
almanac  ? " 

"  Saunders  is  readin'  '  The  Brokenhearted  Bride  '  — 
you  can  have  it  soon 's  he 's  through.  He  says  it 's  a 
peach." 

"  Fifteen  is  bringing  up  a  bunch  of  magazines.  I  '11 
have  reading  in  plenty  two  hours  from  now;  but  my 
heavens  above,  those  two  hours !  "  She  struck  both 
fists  despairingly  upon  the  counter. 

"  I  've  got  gumdrops,  and  fancy  mixed  — " 

"  Forget  it,  then.  A  five-pound  box  of  chocolates 
is  due  —  on  fifteen."  She  sighed  heavily.  "  I  wish 


16  GOOD    INDIAN 

you  were  n't  so  old,  and  had  n't  quite  so  many  chins, 
Pete/'  she  complained.  "  I  'd  inveigle  you  into  a  flirta- 
tion. You  see  how  desperate  I  am  for  something  to 
do!" 

Pete  smiled  unhappily.  He  was  sensitive  about  all 
those  chins,  and  the  general  bulk  which  accompanied 
them. 

"  Let  me  make  you  acquainted  with  my  friend, 
Good  In  —  er  —  Mr.  Imsen."  Pete  considered  that  he 
was  behaving  with  great  discernment  and  tact.  "  This 
is  Miss  Georgie  Howard,  the  new  operator."  He 
twinkled  his  little  eyes  at  her  maliciously.  "  Say,  he 
ain't  got  but  one  chin,  and  he  's  only  twenty-three  years 
old."  He  felt  that  the  inference  was  too  plain  to  be 
ignored. 

She  turned  her  head  slowly  and  looked  Grant  over 
with  an  air  of  disparagement,  while  she  nodded  negli- 
gently as  an  acknowledgment  to  the  introduction. 
"  Pete  thinks  he 's  awfully  witty,"  she  remarked. 
"  It 's  really  pathetic." 

Pete  bristled  —  as  much  as  a  fat  man  could  bristle  on 
so  hot  a  day.  "  Well,  you  said  you  wanted  to  flirt,  and 
so  I  took  it  for  granted  you  'd  like  — " 

Good  Indian  looked  straight  past  the  girl,  and  scowled 
at  Pete. 

"  Pete,  you  're  an  idiot  ordinarily,  but  when  you  try 


GOOD    INDIAN  17 

to  be  smart  you  're  absolutely  insufferable.  You  're 
mentally  incapable  of  recognizing  the  line  of  demarca- 
tion between  legitimate  persiflage  and  objectionable 
familiarity.  An  ignoramus  of  your  particular  class 
ought  to  confine  his  repartee  to  unqualified  affirmation 
or  the  negative  monosyllable."  Whereupon  he  pulled 
his  hat  more  firmly  upon  his  head,  hunched  his  shoul- 
ders in  disgust,  remembered  his  manners,  and  bowed 
to  Miss  Georgie  Howard,  and  stalked  out,  as  straight 
of  back  as  the  Indian  whose  blanket  he  brushed,  and 
who  may  have  been,  for  all  he  knew,  a  blood  relative 
of  his. 

"  I  guess  that  ought  to  hold  you  for  a  while,  Pete," 
Miss  Georgie  approved  under  her  breath,  and  stared 
after  Grant  curiously.  "  '  You  're  mentally  incapable 
of  recognizing  the  line  of  demarcation  between  legit- 
imate persiflage  and  objectionable  familiarity.'  I  '11 
bet  two  bits  you  don't  know  what  that  means,  Pete; 
but  it  hits  you  off  exactly.  Who  is  this  Mr. 
Imsen  ?  " 

She  got  no  reply  to  that.  Indeed,  she  did  not  wait 
for  a  reply.  Outside,  things  were  happening  —  and, 
since  Miss  Georgie  was  dying  of  dullness,  she  hailed  the 
disturbance  as  a  Heaven-sent  blessing,  and  ran  to  see 
what  was  going  on. 

Briefly,  Grant  had  inadvertently  stepped  on  a  sleeping 


18  GOOD    INDIAN 

dog's  paw  —  a  dog  of  the  mongrel  breed  which  infests 
Indian  camps,  and  which  had  attached  itself  to  the 
blanketed  buck  inside.  The  dog  awoke  with  a  yelp, 
saw  that  it  was  a  stranger  who  had  perpetrated  the  out- 
rage, and  straightway  fastened  its  teeth  in  the  leg  of 
Grant's  trousers.  Grant  kicked  it  loose,  and  when  it 
came  at  him  again,  he  swore  vengeance  and  mounted 
his  horse  in  haste. 

He  did  not  say  a  word.  He  even  smiled  while  he  un- 
coiled his  rope,  widened  the  loop,  and,  while  the  dog 
was  circling  warily  and  watching  for  another  chance 
at  him,  dropped  the  loop  neatly  over  its  front  quarters, 
and  drew  it  tight. 

Saunders,  a  weak-lunged,  bandy-legged  individual, 
who  was  officially  a  general  chore  man  for  Pete,  but 
who  did  little  except  lie  in  the  shade,  reading  novels 
or  gossiping,  awoke  then,  and,  having  a  reputation  for 
tender-heartedness,  waved  his  arms  and  called  aloud  in 
the  name  of  peace. 

"  Turn  him  loose,  I  tell  yuh !  A  helpless  critter  like 
that  —  you  oughta  be  ashamed  —  abusin'  dumb  animals 
that  can't  fight  back !  " 

"  Oh,  can't  he  ?  "    Grant  laughed  grimly. 

"  You  turn  that  dog  loose !  "  Saunders  became 
vehement,  and  paid  the  penalty  of  a  paroxysm  of 
coughing. 


GOOD    INDIAN  19 

"  You  go  to  the  devil.  If  you  were  an  able-bodied 
man,  I  'd  get  you,  too  —  just  to  have  a  pair  of  you. 
Yelping,  snapping  curs,  both  of  you."  He  played  the 
dog  as  a  fisherman  plays  a  trout. 

"  That  dog,  him  Viney  dog.  Viney  heap  likum. 
You  no  killum,  Good  Injun."  The  Indian,  his  arms 
folded  in  his  blanket,  stood  upon  the  porch  watching 
calmly  the  fun.  "  Viney  all  time  heap  mad,  you 
killum,"  he  added  indifferently. 

"  Sure  it  is  n't  old  Hagar's  ?  " 

"No  b'long-um  Hagar— b'long-um  Viney.  Viney 
heap  likum." 

Grant  hesitated,  circling  erratically  with  his  victim 
close  to  the  steps.  "  All  right,  no  killum  —  teachum 
lesson,  though.  Viney  heap  "bueno  squaw  —  heap  likum 
Viney.  No  likum  dog,  though.  Dog  all  time  come 
along  me."  He  glanced  up,  passed  over  the  fact  that 
Miss  Georgie  Howard  was  watching  him  and  clapping 
her  hands  enthusiastically  at  the  spectacle,  and  settled 
an  unfriendly  stare  upon  Saunders. 

"  You  shut  up  your  yowling.  You  '11  burst  a  blood 
vessel  and  go  to  heaven,  first  thing  you  know.  I've 
never  contemplated  hiring  you  as  my  guardian  angel, 
you  blatting  buck  sheep.  Go  off  and  lie  down  some- 
where." He  turned  in  the  saddle  and  looked  down  at 
the  dog,  clawing  and  fighting  the  rope  which  held  him 


20  GOOD    INDIAN 

fast  just  back  of  the  shoulder-blades.  "  Come  along, 
doggie  —  nice  doggie !  "  he  grinned,  and  touched  his 
horse  with  the  spurs.  With  one  leap,  it  was  off  at  a 
sharp  gallop,  up  over  the  hill  and  through  the  sage- 
brush to  where  he  knew  the  Indian  camp  must  be. 

Old  Wolfbelly  had  but  that  morning  brought  his 
thirty  or  forty  followers  to  camp  in  the  hollow  where 
was  a  spring  of  clear  water  —  the  hollow  which  had 
for  long  been  known  locally  as  "  the  Indian  Camp," 
because  of  Wolfbelly's  predilection  for  the  spot.  With- 
out warning  save  for  the  beat  of  hoofs  in  the  sandy 
soil,  Grant  charged  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  and  into 
camp,  scattering  dogs,  papooses,  and  squaws  alike  as 
he  rode. 

Shrill  clamor  filled  the  sultry  air.  Sleeping  bucks 
awoke,  scowling  at  the  uproar;  and  the  horse  of  Good 
Indian,  hating  always  the  smell  and  the  litter  of  an 
Indian  camp,  pitched  furiously  into  the  very  wikiup  of 
old  Hagar,  who  hated  the  rider  of  old.  In  the  first 
breathing  spell  he  loosed  the  dog,  which  skulked,  limp- 
ing, into  the  first  sheltered  spot  he  found,  and  laid 
him  down  to  lick  his  outraged  person  and  whimper  to 
himself  at  the  memory  of  his  plight.  Grant  pulled  his 
horse  to  a  restive  stand  before  a  group  of  screeching 
squaws,  and  laughed  outright  at  the  panic  of  them. 

"Hello,   Viney!      I   brought   back   your   dog,"   he 


GOOD   INDIAN  21 

drawled.  "  He  tried  to  bite  me  —  heap  kay  bueno  * 
dog.  Mebbyso  you  killum.  Me  no  hurtum  —  all  time 
him  Hartley,  all  time  him  try  hard  bite  me.  Sleeping 
Turtle  tell  me  him  Viney  dog.  Me  likum  Viney,  me 
no  kill  Viney  dog.  You  all  time  mebbyso  eat  that  dog 
—  sabe  ?  No  keep  —  kay  bueno.  All  time  try  for  bite. 
You  cookum,  no  can  bite.  Sabe?" 

Without  waiting  to  see  whether  Viney  approved  of 
his  method  of  disciplining  her  dog,  or  intended  to  take 
his  advice  regarding  its  disposal,  he  wheeled  and  started 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  trail  which  led  down  the  bluff 
to  the  Hart  ranch.  When  he  reached  the  first  steep 
descent,  however,  he  remembered  that  Pete  had  spoken 
of  some  mail  for  the  Harts,  and  turned  back  to  get  it. 

Once  more  in  Hartley,  he  found  that  the  belated  train 
was  making  up  time,  and  would  be  there  within  an 
hour;  and,  since  it  carried  mail  from  the  West,  it 
seemed  hardly  worth  while  to  ride  away  before  its 
arrival.  Also,  Pete  intimated  that  there  was  a  good 

*  ATJTHOB'S  NOTE. — The  Indians  of  southern  Idaho  spoke  a 
somewhat  mixed  dialect.  Bueno  (wayno),  their  word  for  "  good," 
undoubtedly  being  taken  from  the  Spanish  language.  I  believe 
the  word  "  kay  "  to  be  Indian.  It  means  "  no "  and  thus  the 
"  kay  bueno"  so  often  used  by  them  means  literally  "no  good," 
and  is  a  term  of  reproach.  On  the  other  hand,  "  heap  bueno  "  is 
"  very  good,"  their  enthusiasm  being  manifested  merely  by  draw- 
ing out  the  word  "  heap."  In  speaking  English  they  appear 
to  have  no  other  way  of  expressing,  in  a  single  phrase,  their  like 
or  dislike  of  an  object  or  person. 


22  GOOD    INDIAN 

chance  of  prevailing  upon  the  dining-car  conductor  to 
throw  off  a  chunk  of  ice.  Grant,  therefore,  led  his 
horse  around  into  the  shade,  and  made  himself  com- 
fortable while  he  waited. 


CHAPTEE  III 

OLD    WIVES'    TALES 

DOWN"  the  winding  trail  of  Snake  Kiver  bluff 
straggled  a  blanketed  half  dozen,  of  old  Wolf- 
belly's  tribe,  the  braves  stalking  moodily  in  front  and 
kicking  up  a  gray  cloud  of  dust  which  enveloped  the 
squaws  behind  them  but  could  not  choke  to  silence  their 
shrill  chatter;  for  old  Hagar  was  there,  and  Viney, 
and  the  incident  of  the  dog  was  fresh  in  their  minds  and 
tickling  their  tongues. 

The  Hart  boys  were  assembled  at  the  corral,  halter- 
breaking  a  three-year-old  for  the  pure  fun  of  it.  Wally 
caught  sight  of  the  approaching  blotch  of  color,  and 
yelled  a  wordless  greeting;  him  had  old  Hagar  carried 
lovingly  upon  her  broad  shoulders  with  her  own 
papoose  when  he  was  no  longer  than  her  arm;  and  she 
knew  his  voice  even  at  that  distance,  and  grinned  — 
grinned  and  hid  her  joy  in  a  fold  of  her  dingy  red 
blanket. 

"  Looks  like  old  Wolfbelly  's  back,"  Clark  observed 
needlessly.  "  Donny,  if  they  don't  go  to  the  house  right 


24  GOOD   INDIAN 

away,  you  go  and  tell  mum  they  're  here.  Chances 
are  the  whole  bunch  '11  hang  around  till  supper." 

"  Say !  "  Gene  giggled  with  fourteen-year-old  irre- 
pressibility.  "  Does  anybody  know  where  Vadnie  is  ? 
If  we  could  spring  'em  on  her  and  make  her  believe 
they  're  on  the  warpath  —  say,  I  '11  gamble  she  'd  run 
clear  to  the  Malad !  " 

"  I  told  her,  cross  my  heart,  this  morning  that  the 
Injuns  are  peaceful  now.  I  said  Good  Injun  was  the 
only  one  that 's  dangerous  —  oh,  I  sure  did  throw  a  good 
stiff  load,  all  right !  "  Clark  grinned  at  the  memory. 
"  I  've  got  to  see  Grant  first,  when  he  gets  back,  and 
put  him  wise  to  the  rep  he  's  got.  Vad  did  n't  hardly 
swallow  it.  She  said :  '  Why,  Cousin  Clark !  Aunt 
Phoebe  says  he  's  perfectly  lovely ! '  Clark  mimicked 
the  girl's  voice  with  relish. 

"  Aw  —  there  's  a  lot  of  squaws  tagging  along  be- 
hind !  "  Donny  complained  disgustedly  from  his  post 
of  observation  on  the  fence.  "  They  '11  go  to  the  house 
first  thing  to  gabble  —  there 's  old  Hagar  waddling 
along  like  a  duck.  You  can't  make  that  warpath  busi- 
ness stick,  Clark  —  not  with  all  them  squaws." 

"  Well,  say,  you  sneak  up  and  hide  somewhere  till 
yuh  see  if  Vadnie 's  anywhere  around.  If  they  get 
settled  down  talking  to  mum,  they  're  good  for  an 
hour  —  she  's  churning,  Don  —  you  hide  in  the  rocks 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  25 

by  the  milk-house  till  they  get  settled.  And  I  '11  see 
if —  Git!  Pikeway,  while  they're  behind  the 
stacks !  " 

Donny  climbed  down  and  scurried  through  the  sand 
to  the  house  as  if  his  very  life  depended  upon  reaching 
it  unseen.  The  group  of  Indians  came  up,  huddled 
at  the  corral,  and  peered  through  the  stout  rails. 

"  How !  How !  "  chorused  the  boys,  and  left  the 
horse  for  a  moment  while  they  shook  hands  ceremoni- 
ously with  the  three  bucks.  Three  Indians,  Clark  de- 
cided regretfully,  would  make  a  tame  showing  on  the 
warpath,  however  much  they  might  lend  themselves  to 
the  spirit  of  the  joke.  He  did  not  quite  know  how  he  was 
going  to  manage  it,  but  he  was  hopeful  still.  It  was 
unthinkable  that  real  live  Indians  should  be  permitted 
to  come  and  go  upon  the  ranch  without  giving  Evadna 
Ramsey,  straight  from  New  Jersey,  the  scare  of  her 
life. 

The  three  bucks,  grunting  monosyllabic  greetings, 
climbed,  in  all  the  dignity  of  their  blankets,  to  the 
top  rail  of  the  corral,  and  roosted  there  to  watch  the 
horse-breaking;  and  for  the  present  Clark  held  his 
peace. 

The  squaws  hovered  there  for  a  moment  longer,  peep- 
ing through  the  rails.  Then  Hagar  —  she  of  much  flesh 
and  more  temper  —  grunted  a  word  or  two,  and  they 


26  GOOD    INDIAN 

turned  and  plodded  on  to  where  the  house  stood  hidden 
away  in  its  nest  of  cool  green.  For  a  space  they  stood 
outside  the  fence,  peering  warily  into  the  shade,  in- 
stinctively cautious  in  their  manner  of  approaching  a 
strange  place,  and  detained  also  by  the  Indian  etiquette 
which  demands  that  one  wait  until  invited  to  enter  a 
strange  camp. 

After  a  period  of  waiting  which  seemed  to  old  Hagar 
sufficient,  she  pulled  her  blanket  tight  across  her  broad 
hips,  waddled  to  the  gate,  pulled  it  open  with  self- 
conscious  assurance,  and  led  the  way  soft-footedly 
around  the  house  to  where  certain  faint  sounds  be- 
trayed the  presence  of  Phoebe  Hart  in  her  stone  milk- 
house. 

At  the  top  of  the  short  flight  of  wide  stone  steps  they 
stopped  and  huddled  silently,  until  the  black  shadow 
of  them  warned  Phoebe  of  their  presence.  She  had 
lived  too  long  in  the  West  to  seem  startled  when  she 
suddenly  discovered  herself  watched  by  three  pair  of 
beady  black  eyes,  so  she  merely  nodded,  and  laid  down 
her  butter-ladle  to  shake  hands  all  around. 

"  How,  Hagar  ?  How,  Viney  ?  How,  Lucy  ?  Heap 
glad  to  see  you.  Bueno  buttermilk  —  mebbyso  you 
drinkum  ? " 

However  diffident  they  might  be  when  it  came  to 
announcing  their  arrival,  their  bashfulness  did  not  ex- 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  27 

tend  to  accepting  offers  of  food  or  drink.  Three  brown 
hands  were  eagerly  outstretched  —  though  it  was  the 
hand  of  Hagar  which  grasped  first  the  big  tin  cup. 
They  not  only  drank,  they  guzzled,  and  afterward  drew 
a  fold  of  blanket  across  their  milk-white  lips,  and 
grinned  in  pure  animal  satisfaction. 

"  Bueno.  He-e-ap  bueno  I "  they  chorused  appre- 
ciatively, and  squatted  at  the  top  of  the  stone  steps, 
watching  Phoebe  manipulate  the  great  ball  of  yellow 
butter  in  its  wooden  bowl. 

After  a  brief  silence,  Hagar  shook  the  tangle  of 
unkempt,  black  hair  away  from  her  moonlike  face,  and 
began  talking  in  a  soft  monotone,  her  voice  now  and 
then  rising  to  a  shrill  singsong. 

"  Mebbyso  Tom,  mebbyso  Sharlie,  mebbyso  Sleeping 
Turtle  all  time  come  along,"  she  announced.  "  Stop  all 
time  corral,  talk  yo'  boys.  Mebbyso  heap  likum  drink 
yo'  butter  water.  Bueno/' 

When  Phoebe  nodded  assent,  Hagar  went  on  to  the 
news  which  had  brought  her  so  soon  to  the  ranch — the 
news  which  satisfied  both  an  old  grudge  and  her  love 
of  gossip. 

"  Good  Injun,  him  all  time  heap  kay  bueno,"  she 
stated  emphatically,  her  sloe  black  eyes  fixed  unwaver- 
ingly upon  Phoebe's  face  to  see  if  the  stab  was  effective. 
"  Good  Injun  come  Hartley,  all  time  drunk  likum  pig. 


28  GOOD    INDIAN 

All  time  heap  yell,  heap  shoot  —  Tcay  bueno.  Wantum 
fight  man-that-coughs.  Come  all  time  camp,  heap  yell, 
heap  shoot  some  more.  Ketchum  dog  —  Viney  dog  — 
heap  dragum  through  sagebrush  —  dog  all  time  cry,  no 
can  get  away  —  me  thinkum  kill  that  dog.  Squaws  cry 

—  Viney  cry  —  Good  Injun  "  —  Hagar  paused  here  for 
greater  effect  —  "  makum  horse  all  time  buck  —  ridum 
in  wikiup  —  Hagar  wikiup  —  all  time  breakum  —  no 
can  fix  that  wikiup.    Good  Injun,  hee-e-ap  Icay  bueno!  " 
At  the  last  her  voice  was  high  and  tremulous  with 
anger. 

"  Good  Indian  mebbyso  all  same  my  boy  Wally." 
Phoebe  gave  the  butter  a  vicious  slap.  "  Me  heap  love 
Good  Indian.  You  no  call  Good  Indian,  you  call  Grant. 
Grant  bueno.  Heap  bueno  all  time.  No  drunk,  no  yell, 
no  shoot,  mebbyso  "  —  she  hesitated,  knowing  well  the 
possibilities  of  her  foster  son  —  "  mebbyso  catchum  dog 

—  me  think  no  catchum.     Grant   all   same  my  boy. 
All  time  me  likum  —  heap  bueno." 

Viney  and  Lucy  nudged  each  other  and  tittered 
into  their  blankets,  for  the  argument  was  an  old  one 
between  Hagar  and  Phosbe,  though  the  grievance  of 
Hagar  might  be  fresh.  Hagar  shifted  her  blanket  and 
thrust  out  a  stubborn  under  lip. 

"  Wally  boy,  heap  bueno,"  she  said ;  and  her 
malicious  old  face  softened  as  she  spoke  of  him,  dear  as 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  29 

her  own  first-born.  "  Jack  bueno,  mebbyso  Gene  bueno, 
mebbyso  Clark,  mebbyso  Donny  all  time  bueno." 
Doubt  was  in  her  voice  when  she  praised  those  last  two, 
however,  because  of  their  continual  teasing.  She 
stopped  short  to  emphasize  the  damning  contrast. 
"  Good  Injun  all  same  mebbyso  yo'  boy  Grant,  hee-ee-eap 
kay  bueno.  Good  Injun  Grant  all  time  debbil!" 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Donny  slipped  away  to  re- 
port that  "Mamma  and  old  Hagar  are  scrappin'  over 
Good  Injun  again,"  and  told  with  glee  the  tale  of  his 
misdeeds  as  recounted  by  the  squaw. 

Phoebe  in  her  earnestness  forgot  to  keep  within  the 
limitations  of  their  dialect. 

"  Grant 's  a  good  boy,  and  a  smart  boy.  There  is  n't 
a  better-hearted  fellow  in  the  country,  if  I  have  got 
five  boys  of  my  own.  You  think  I  like  him  better  than 
I  like  Wally,  is  all  ails  you,  Hagar.  You  're  jealous  of 
Grant,  and  you  always  have  been,  ever  since  his  father 
left  him  with  me.  I  hope  my  heart 's  big  enough  to 
hold  them  all."  She  remembered  then  that  they  could 
not  understand  half  she  was  saying,  and  appealed  to 
Viney.  Viney  liked  Grant. 

"  Viney,  you  tell  me.  Grant  no  come  Hartley,  no 
drunk,  no  yell,  no  catchum  you  dog,  no  ride  in  Hagar's 
wikiup?  You  tell  me,  Viney." 

Viney  and  Lucy  bobbed  their  heads  rapidly  up  and 


30  GOOD    INDIAN 

down.  Viney,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  Hagar,  spoke 
softly. 

"  Good  Injun  Grant,  mebbyso  come  Hartley,"  she  ad- 
mitted reluctantly,  as  if  she  would  have  been  pleased 
to  prove  Hagar  a  liar  in  all  things.  "  Me  thinkum  no 
drunk.  Mebbyso  ketchum  dog  —  dog  kay  bueno, 
mebbyso  me  killum.  Good  Injun  Grant  no  heap  yell, 
no  shoot  all  time  —  mebbyso  no  drunk.  No  breakum 
wikiup.  Horse  all  time  Jcay  bueno,  Hagar  — " 

"  Shont-isham!  "  (big  lie)  Hagar  interrupted  shrilly 
then,  and  Viney  relapsed  into  silence,  her  thin  face 
growing  sullen  under  the  upbraiding  she  received  in  her 
native  tongue.  Phoebe,  looking  at  her  attentively,  de- 
spaired of  getting  any  nearer  the  truth  from  any  of 
them. 

There  was  a  sudden  check  to  Hagar's  shrewish 
clamor.  The  squaws  stiffened  to  immobility  and  lis- 
tened stolidly,  their  eyes  alone  betraying  the  curiosity 
they  felt.  Off  somewhere  at  the  head  of  the  tiny  pond, 
hidden  away  in  the  jungle  of  green,  a  voice  was  sing- 
ing; a  girl's  voice,  and  a  strange  voice— for  the  squaws 
knew  well  the  few  women  voices  along  the  Snake. 

"  That  my  girl,"  Phoebe  explained,  stopping  the  soft 
pat-pat  of  her  butter-ladle. 

"  Where  ketchum  yo'  girl  ?  "  Hagar  forgot  her  petu- 
lance, and  became  curious  as  any  white  woman. 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  31 

"  Me  ketchum  'way  off,  where  sun  come  up.  All 
time  me  have  heap  boys  —  mebbyso  want  girl  all  time. 
My  mother's  sister's  boy  have  one  girl,  'way  off  where 
sun  come  up.  My  mother's  sister's  boy  die,  his  wife 
all  same  die,  that  girl  mebbyso  heap  sad ;  no  got  father, 
no  got  mother  —  all  time  got  nobody.  Kay  bueno.  That 
girl  send  one  letter,  say  all  time  got  nobody.  Me  want 
one  girl.  Me  send  one  letter,  tell  that  girl  come,  be 
all  time  my  girl.  Five  days  ago,  that  girl  come.  Me 
heap  glad ;  boys  all  time  heap  glad,  my  man  heap  glad. 
Bueno.  Mebbyso  you  glad  me  have  one  girl  ? "  Not 
that  their  approval  was  necessary,  or  even  of  much  im- 
portance ;  but  Phoebe  was  accustomed  to  treat  them  like 
spoiled  children. 

Hagar's  lip  was  out-thrust  again.  "  Yo'  ketchum  one 
girl,  mebbyso  yo'  no  more  likum  my  boy  Wally.  Kay 
bueno." 

"  Heap  like  all  my  boys  jus'  same,"  Phoebe  hastened 
to  assure  her,  and  added  with  a  hint  of  malice,  "  Heap 
like  my  boy  Grant  all  same." 

"  Huh !  "  Hagar  chose  to  remain  unconvinced  and 
antagonistic.  "  Good  Injun  Tcay  bueno.  Yo'  girl, 
mebbyso  kay  bueno." 

"  What  name  yo'  girl  ? "  Viney  interposed  hastily. 

"  Name  Evadna  Eamsey."  In  spite  of  herself, 
Phoebe  felt  a  trifle  chilled  by  their  lack  of  enthu- 


32 

siasm.  She  went  back  to  her  butter-making  in  digni- 
fied silence. 

The  squaws  blinked  at  her  stolidly.  Always  they 
were  inclined  toward  suspicion  of  strangers,  and  per- 
haps to  a  measure  of  jealousy  as  well.  Not  many  whites 
received  them  with  frank  friendship  as  did  the  Hart 
family,  and  they  felt  far  more  upon  the  subject  than 
they  might  put  into  words,  even  the  words  of  their 
own  language. 

Many  of  the  white  race  looked  upon  them  as  beggars, 
which  was  bad  enough,  or  as  thieves,  which  was  worse; 
and  in  a  general  way  they  could  not  deny  the  truth  of 
it.  But  they  never  stole  from  the  Harts,  and  they 
never  openly  begged  from  the  Harts.  The  friends  of  the 
Harts,  however,  must  prove  their  friendship  before 
they  could  hope  for  better  than  an  imperturbable  neu- 
trality. So  they  would  not  pretend  to  be  glad.  Hagar 
was  right  —  perhaps  the  girl  was  no  good.  They  would 
wait  until  they  could  pass  judgment  upon  this  girl  who 
had  come  to  live  in  the  wikiup  of  the  Harts.  Then 
Lucy,  she  who  longed  always  for  children  and  had 
been  denied  by  fate,  stirred  slightly,  her  nostrils 
aquiver. 

"  Mebbyso  bueno  yo'  girl,"  she  yielded,  speaking 
softly.  "  Mebbyso  see  yo'  girl." 

Phoebe's   face   cleared,   and   she   called,   in  mellow 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  33 

crescendo:  "Oh,  Va-ad-niee?"  Immediately  the  sing- 
ing stopped. 

"  Coming,  Aunt  Phoebe,"  answered  the  voice. 

The  squaws  wrapped  themselves  afresh  in  their 
blankets,  passed  brown  palms  smoothingly  down  their 
hair  from  the  part  in  the  middle,  settled  their  braids 
upon  their  bosoms  with  true  feminine  instinct,  and 
waited.  They  heard  her  feet  crunching  softly  in  the 
gravel  that  bordered  the  pond,  but  not  a  head  turned 
that  way;  for  all  the  sign  of  life  they  gave,  the  three 
might  have  been  mere  effigies  of  women.  They  heard 
a  faint  scream  when  she  caught  sight  of  them  sitting 
there,  and  their  faces  settled  into  more  stolid  indiffer- 
ence, adding  a  hint  of  antagonism  even  to  the  soft  eyes 
of  Lucy,  the  tender,  childless  one. 

"Vadnie,  here  are  some  new  neighbors  I  want  you 
to  get  acquainted  with."  Phoebe's  eyes  besought  the 
girl  to  be  calm.  "  They  're  all  old  friends  of  mine. 
Come  here  and  let  me  introduce  you  —  and  don't  look 
so  horrified,  honey !  " 

Those  incorrigibles,  her  cousins,  would  have  whooped 
with  joy  at  her  unmistakable  terror  when  she  held  out 
a  trembling  hand  and  gasped  faintly :  "  H-how  do 
you  —  do  ?  " 

"  This  Hagar,"  Phoebe  announced  cheerfully ;  and 
the  old  squaw  caught  the  girl's  hand  and  gripped  it 


34  GOOD    INDIAN 

tightly  for  a  moment  in  malicious  enjoyment  of  her  too- 
evident  fear  and  repulsion. 

"  This  Viney." 

Viney,  reading  Evadna's  face  in  one  keen,  upward 
glance,  kept  her  hands  hidden  in  the  folds  of  her  blanket, 
and  only  nodded  twice  reassuringly. 

"  This  Lucy." 

Lucy  read  also  the  girl's  face;  but  she  reached  up, 
pressed  her  hand  gently,  and  her  glance  was  soft  and 
friendly.  So  the  ordeal  was  over. 

"  Bring  some  of  that  cake  you  baked  to-day,  honey  — 
and  do  brace  up!"  Phoebe  patted  her  upon  the 
shoulder. 

Hagar  forestalled  the  hospitable  intent  by  getting 
slowly  upon  her  fat  legs,  shaking  her  hair  out  of  her 
eyes,  and  grunting  a  command  to  the  others.  With  vis- 
ible reluctance  Lucy  and  Viney  rose  also,  hitched  their 
blankets  into  place,  and  vanished,  soft-footed  as  they 
had  come. 

"  Oo-oo !  "  Evadna  stared  at  the  place  where  they 
were  not.  "  Wild  Indians  —  I  thought  the  boys  were 
just  teasing  when  they  said  so  —  and  it 's  really  true, 
Aunt  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  They  're  no  wilder  than  you  are,"  Phoebe  retorted 
impatiently. 

"  Oh;  they  are  wild.    They  're  exactly  like  in  my  his- 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  35 

tory  —  and  they  don't  make  a  sound  when  they  go  — 
you  just  look,  and  they  're  gone !  That  old  fat  one  — 
did  you  see  how  she  looked  at  me?  As  if  she  wanted 
to  —  scalp  me,  Aunt  Phoebe!  She  looked  right  at  my 
hair  and — " 

"  Well,  she  did  n't  take  it  with  her,  did  she  ?  Don't 
be  silly.  I  've  known  old  Hagar  ever  since  Wally  was  a 
baby.  She  took  him  right  to  her  own  wikiup  and 
nursed  him  with  her  own  papoose  for  two  months  when 
I  was  sick,  and  Viney  stayed  with  me  day  and  night 
and  pulled  me  through.  Lucy  I  've  known  since  she  was 
a  papoose.  Great  grief,  child!  Didn't  you  hear  me 
say  they  're  old  friends  ?  I  wanted  you  to  be  nice  to 
them,  because  if  they  like  you  there 's  nothing  they 
won't  do  for  you.  If  they  don't,  there  's  nothing  they 
will  do.  You  might  as  well  get  used  to  them  — " 

Out  by  the  gate  rose  a  clamor  which  swept  nearer 
and  nearer  until  the  noise  broke  at  the  corner  of  the 
house  like  a  great  wave,  in  a  tumult  of  red  blanket, 
flying  black  hair,  the  squalling  of  a  female  voice,  and 
the  harsh  laughter  of  the  man  who  carried  the  dis- 
turbance, kicking  and  clawing,  in  his  arms.  Fighting 
his  way  to  the  milk-house,  he  dragged  the  squaw  along 
beside  the  porch,  followed  by  the  Indians  and  all  the 
Hart  boys,  a  yelling,  jeering  audience. 

"  You  tell  her  shont-isham  !    Ah-h  —  you  can't  break 


36  GOOD    INDIAN 

loose,  you  old  she-wildcat.  Quit  your  biting,  will  you  ? 
By  all  the  big  and  little  spirits  of  your  tribe,  you  '11 
wish—" 

Panting,  laughing,  swearing  also  in  breathless  ex- 
clamations, he  forced  her  to  the  top  of  the  steps,  backed 
recklessly  down  them,  and  came  to  a  stop  in  the  corner 
by  the  door.  Evadna  had  taken  refuge  there;  and  he 
pressed  her  hard  against  the  rough  wall  without  in  the 
least  realizing  that  anything  was  behind  him  save  un- 
sentient  stone. 

"  Now,  you  sing  your  little  song,  and  be  quick  about 
it !  "  he  commanded  his  captive  sternly.  "  You  tell 
Mother  Hart  you  lied.  I  hear  she  's  been  telling  you 
I  'm  drunk,  Mother  Hart  —  did  n't  you,  you  old 
beldam?  You  say  you  heap  sorry  you  all  time  tellum 
lie.  You  say :  '  Good  Injun,  him  all  time  heap  bueno/ 
Say :  '  Good  Injun  no  drunk,  no  heap  shoot,  no  heap  yell 
—  all  time  bueno.'  Quick,  or  I  '11  land  you  headfore- 
most in  that  pond,  you  infernal  old  hag !  " 

"Good  Injun  hee-eeap  Jcay  bueno!  Heap  debbil  all 
time."  Hagar  might  be  short  of  breath,  but  her  spirit 
was  unconquered,  and  her  under  lip  bore  witness  to  her 
stubbornness. 

Phoebe  caught  him  by  the  arm  then,  thinking  he 
meant  to  make  good  his  threat  —  and  it  would  not  have 
been  unlike  Grant  Imsen  to  do  so. 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  37 

"  Now,  Grant,  you  let  her  go,"  she  coaxed.  "  I  know 
you  are  n't  drunk  —  of  course,  I  knew  it  all  the  time. 
I  told  Hagar  so.  What  do  you  care  what  she  says 
about  you?  You  don't  want  to  fight  an  old  woman, 
Grant  —  a  man  can't  fight  a  woman  — " 

"  You  tell  her  you  heap  big  liar !  "  Grant  did  not 
even  look  at  Phoebe,  but  his  purpose  seemed  to  waver 
in  spite  of  himself.  "  You  all  time  Tcay  bueno.  You 
all  time  lie."  He  gripped  her  more  firmly,  and  turned 
his  head  slightly  toward  Phoebe.  "  You  'd  be  tired  of 
it  yourself  if  she  threw  it  into  you  like  she  does  into 
me,  Mother  Hart.  It 's  got  so  I  can't  ride  past  this 
old  hag  in  the  trail  but  she  gives  me  the  bad  eye,  and 
mumbles  into  her  blanket.  And  if  I  look  sidewise,  she 
yowls  all  over  the  country  that  I  'm  drunk.  I  'm  getting 
tired  of  it !  "  He  shook  the  squaw  as  a  puppy  shakes 
a  shoe  —  shook  her  till  her  hair  quite  hid  her  ugly  old 
face  from  sight. 

"All  right  —  Mother  Hart  she  tellum  mebbyso  let 
you  go.  This  time  I  no  throw  you  in  pond.  You  heap 
take  care  next  time,  mebbyso.  You  no  tellum  big  lie, 
me  all  time  heap  drunk.  You  Tcay  bueno.  All  time 
me  tellum  Mother  Hart,  tellum  boys,  tellum  Viney, 
Lucy,  tellum  Charlie  and  Tom  and  Sleeping  Turtle  you 
heap  big  liar.  Me  tell  Wally  shont-isham.  Him  all 
time  my  friend  —  mebbyso  him  no  likum  you  no  more. 


38  GOOD    INDIAN 

Huh.  Get  out  —  pike  way  before  I  forget  you  're  a 
lady!" 

He  laughed  ironically,  and  pushed  her  from  him  so 
suddenly  that  she  sprawled  upon  the  steps.  The  In- 
dians grinned  unsympathetically  at  her,  for  Hagar  was 
not  the  most  popular  member  of  the  tribe  by  any  means. 
Scrambling  up,  she  shook  her  witch  locks  from  her  face, 
wrapped  herself  in  her  dingy  blanket,  and  scuttled 
away,  muttering  maledictions  under  her  breath.  The 
watching  group  turned  and  followed  her,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  the  gate  was  heard  to  slam  shut  behind  them. 
Grant  stood  where  he  was,  leaning  against  the  milk- 
house  wall ;  and  when  they  were  gone,  he  gave  a  short, 
apologetic  laugh. 

"  No  need  to  lecture,  Mother  Hart.  I  know  it  was 
a  fool  thing  to  do;  but  when  Donny  told  me  what  the 
old  devil  said,  I  was  so  mad  for  a  minute  — " 

Phoebe  caught  him  again  by  the  arm  and  pulled 
him  forward.  "  Grant !  You  're  squeezing  Vadnie  to 
death,  just  about!  Great  grief,  I  forgot  all  about  the 
poor  child  being  here !  You  poor  little  — " 

"  Squeezing  who  ?  "  Grant  whirled,  and  caught  a 
brief  glimpse  of  a  crumpled  little  figure  behind  him, 
evidently  too  scared  to  cry,  and  yet  not  quite  at  the 
fainting  point  of  terror.  He  backed,  and  began  to 
stammer  an  apology;  but  she  did  not  wait  to  hear  a 


OLD   WIVES'   TALES          39 

word  of  it.  For  an  instant  she  stared  into  his  face, 
and  then,  like  a  rabbit  released  from  its  paralysis  of 
dread,  she  darted  past  him  and  fled  up  the  stone  steps 
into  the  house.  He  heard  the  kitchen-door  shut,  and 
the  click  of  the  lock.  He  heard  other  doors  slam 
suggestively;  and  he  laughed  in  spite  of  his  astonish- 
ment. 

"  And  who  the  deuce  might  that  be  ?  "  he  asked,  feel- 
ing in  his  pocket  for  smoking  material. 

Phoebe  seemed  undecided  between  tears  and  laughter. 
"  Oh,  Grant,  Grant!  She  '11  think  you  're  ready  to  mur- 
der everybody  on  the  ranch  —  and  you  can  be  such  a 
nice  boy  when  you  want  to  be!  I  did  hope — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  nice,"  Grant  objected,  drawing 
a  match  along  a  fairly  smooth  rock. 

"  Well,  I  wanted  you  to  appear  at  your  best ;  and, 
instead  of  that,  here  you  come,  squabbling  with  old 
Hagar  like — " 

"  Yes  —  sure.    But  who  is  the  timid  lady  ?  " 

"  Timid !  You  nearly  killed  the  poor  girl,  besides 
scaring  her  half  to  death,  and  then  you  call  her  timid. 
I  know  she  thought  there  was  going  to  be  a  real  Indian 
massacre,  right  here,  and  she  'd  be  scalped  — " 

Wally  Hart  came  back,  laughing  to  himself. 

"  Say,  you  've  sure  cooked  your  goose  with  old  Hagar, 
Grant !  She  's  right  on  the  warpath,  and  then  some. 


40  GOOD    INDIAN 

She  'd  like  to  burn  yuh  alive  —  she  said  so.  She  's 
headed  for  camp,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  bunch  at  her 
heels.  She  won't  come  here  any  more  till  you  're  kicked 
off  the  ranch,  as  near  as  I  could  make  out  her  jabbering. 
And  she  won't  do  your  washing  any  more,  mum  —  she 
said  so.  You're  Tcay  bueno  yourself,  because  you  take 
Good  Indian's  part.  We  're  all  Jcay  bueno  —  all  but  me. 
She  wanted  me  to  quit  the  bunch  and  go  live  in  her 
wikiup.  I  'm  the  only  decent  one  in  the  outfit."  He 
gave  his  mother  an  affectionate  little  hug  as  he  went 
past,  and  began  an  investigative  tour  of  the  stone  jars  on 
the  cool  rock  floor  within.  "  What  was  it  all  about, 
Grant  ?  What  did  yuh  do  to  her,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  n't  anything.  Hand  me  up  a  cup  of  that 
buttermilk,  will  you  ?  They  've  got  a  dog  up  there  in 
camp  that  I  'm  going  to  kill  some  of  these  days  —  if 
they  don't  beat  me  to  it.  He  was  up  at  the  store,  and 
when  I  went  out  to  get  my  horse,  he  tried  to  take  a  leg  off 
me.  I  kicked  him  in  the  nose  and  he  came  at  me  again, 
so  when  I  mounted  I  just  dropped  my  loop  over  Mr. 
Dog.  Sleeping  Turtle  was  there,  and  he  said  the 
dog  belonged  to  Viney,  so  I  just  led  him  gently  to 
camp." 

He  grinned  a  little  at  the  memory  of  his  gentleness. 
"  I  told  Viney  I  thought  he  'd  make  a  fine  stew,  and 
they  'd  better  use  him  up  right  away  before  he  spoiled. 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  41 

That 's  all  there  was  to  it.  Well,  Keno  did  sink  his  head 
and  pitch  around  camp  a  little,  but  not  to  amount  to 
anything.  He  just  stuck  his  nose  into  old  Hagar's 
wikiup  —  and  one  sniff  seemed  to  be  about  all  he 
wanted.  He  did  n't  hurt  anything." 

He  took  a  meditative  bite  of  cake,  finished  the  butter- 
milk in  three  rapturous  swallows,  and  bethought  him  of 
the  feminine  mystery. 

"  If  you  please,  Mother  Hart,  who  was  that  Christ- 
mas angel  I  squashed  ?  " 

"  Vad  ?  Was  Vad  in  on  it,  mum  ?  /  never  saw  her." 
Wally  straightened  up  with  a  fresh  chunk  of  cake  in 
his  hand.  "  Was  she  scared  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  his  mother  admitted  reluctantly,  "  I  guess 
she  was,  all  right.  First  the  squaws  —  and,  poor  girl,  I 
made  her  shake  hands  all  round  —  and  then  Grant 
here,  acting  like  a  wild  hyena  — " 

"  Say,  please  don't  tell  me  who  she  is,  or  where  she 
belongs,  or  anything  like  that,"  Grant  interposed,  with 
some  sarcasm.  "  I  smashed  her  flat  between  me  and  the 
wall,  and  I  scared  the  daylights  out  of  her ;  and  I  'm 
told  I  should  have  appeared  at  my  best.  But  who  she  is, 
or  where  she  belongs — " 

"  She  belongs  right  here."  Pho3be's  tone  was  a  chal- 
lenge, whether  she  meant  it  to  be  so  or  not.  "  This 
is  going  to  be  her  home  from  now  on;  and  I  want  you 


42  GOOD   INDIAN 

boys  to  treat  her  nicer  than  you  've  been  doing.  She  's 
been  here  a  week  almost;  and  there  ain't  one  of  you 
that 's  made  friends  with  her  yet,  or  tried  to,  even. 
You  've  played  jokes  on  her,  and  told  her  things  to  scare 
her  —  and  my  grief !  I  was  hoping  she  'd  have  a  soften- 
ing influence  on  you,  and  make  gentlemen  of  you.  And 
far  as  I  can  make  out,  just  having  her  on  the  place 
seems  to  put  the  Old  Harry  into  every  one  of  you!  It 
is  n't  right.  It  is  n't  the  way  I  expected  my  boys  would 
act  toward  a  stranger  —  a  girl  especially.  And  I  did 
hope  Grant  would  behave  better." 

"  Sure,  he  ought  to.  Us  boneheads  don't  know  any 
better  —  but  Grant 's  educated."  Wally  grinned  and 
winked  elaborately  at  his  mother's  back. 

"  I  'm  not  educated  up  to  Christmas  angels  that  look 
as  if  they  'd  been  stepped  on,"  Grant  defended  himself. 

"  She  's  a  real  nice  little  thing.  If  you  boys  would 
quit  teasing  the  life  out  of  her,  I  don't  doubt  but  what, 
in  six  months  or  so,  you  would  n't  know  the  girl," 
Phoebe  argued,  with  some  heat. 

"  I  don't  know  the  girl  now."  Grant  spoke  dryly. 
"  I  don't  want  to.  If  I  'd  held  a  tomahawk  in  one  hand 
and  her  flowing  locks  in  the  other,  and  was  just  letting 
a  war-whoop  outa  me,  she  'd  look  at  me  —  the  way  she 
did  look."  He  snorted  in  contemptuous  amusement,  and 
gave  a  little,  writhing  twist  of  his  slim  body  into  his 


OLD    WIVES'    TALES  43 

trousers.     "  I  never  did  like  blondes,"  he  added,  in  a 
tone  of  finality,  and  started  up  the  steps. 

"  You  never  liked  anything  that  wore  skirts,"  Phoebe 
flung  after  him  indignantly;  and  she  came  very  close  to 
the  truth. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    CHEISTMAS    ANGEL 

PHCEBE  watched  the  two  unhappily,  sighed  when 
they  disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
and  set  her  bowl  of  butter  upon  the  broad,  flat  rock 
which  just  missed  being  overflowed  with  water,  and 
sighed  again. 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  is  n't  going  to  work,"  she  murmured 
aloud ;  for  Phoebe,  having  lived  much  of  her  life  in  the 
loneliness  which  the  West  means  to  women,  frequently 
talked  to  herself.  "  She  's  such  a  nice  little  thing  —  but 
the  boys  don't  take  to  her  like  I  thought  they  would.  I 
don't  see  as  she's  having  a  mite  of  influence  on  their 
manners,  unless  it 's  to  make  them  act  worse,  just  to 
shock  her.  Clark  used  to  take  off  his  hat  when  he  come 
into  the  house  most  every  time.  And  great  grief! 
Now  he  'd  wear  it  and  his  chaps  and  spurs  to  the  table, 
if  I  did  n't  make  him  take  them  off.  She  's  nice  — 
she 's  most  too  nice.  I  've  got  to  give  that  girl  a  good 
talking  to." 

She  mounted  the  steps  to  the  back  porch,  tried  the 
kitchen  door,  and  found  it  locked.  She  went  around 


THE    CHRISTMAS    ANGEL     45 

to  the  door  on  the  west  side,  opposite  the  gate,  found 
that  also  secured  upon  the  inside,  and  passed  grimly  to 
the  next. 

"  My  grief !  I  did  n't  know  any  of  these  doors  could 
be  locked !  "  she  muttered  angrily.  "  They  never  have 
been  before  that  I  ever  heard  of."  She  stopped  before 
Evadna's  window,  and  saw,  through  a  slit  in  the  green 
blind,  that  the  old-fashioned  bureau  had  been  pulled 
close  before  it.  "  My  grief !  "  she  whispered  disgust- 
edly, and  retraced  her  steps  to  the  east  side,  which, 
being  next  to  the  pond,  was  more  secluded.  She  sur- 
veyed dryly  a  window  left  wide  open  there,  gathered 
her  brown-and-white  calico  dress  close  about  her  plump 
person,  and  crawled  grimly  through  into  the  sitting- 
room,  where,  to  the  distress  of  Phoebe's  order-loving 
soul,  the  carpet  was  daily  well  sanded  with  the  tread 
of  boys'  boots  fresh  from  outdoors,  and  where  cigarette 
stubs  decorated  every  window-sill,  and  the  stale  odor  of 
Peaceful's  pipe  was  never  long  absent. 

She  went  first  to  all  the  outer  rooms,  and  unlocked 
every  one  of  the  outraged  doors  which,  unless  in  the 
uproar  and  excitement  of  racing,  laughing  boys  pur- 
suing one  another  all  over  the  place  with  much  slam- 
ming and  good-natured  threats  of  various  sorts,  had 
never  before  barred  the  way  of  any  man,  be  he  red  or 
white,  came  he  at  noon  or  at  midnight. 


46  GOOD    INDIAN 

Evadna's  door  was  barricaded,  as  Phoebe  discovered 
when  she  turned  the  knob  and  attempted  to  walk  in. 
She  gave  the  door  an  indignant  push,  and  heard  a 
muffled  shriek  within,  as  if  Evadna's  head  was  buried 
under  her  pillow. 

"  My  grief !  A  body  'd  think  you  expected  to  be 
killed  and  eaten,"  she  called  out  unsympathetically. 
"  You  open  this  door,  Vadnie  Ramsey.  This  is  a  nice 
way  to  act  with  my  own  boys,  in  my  own  house!  A 
body  'd  think—" 

There  was  the  sound  of  something  heavy  being 
dragged  laboriously  away  from  the  barricaded  door; 
and  in  a  minute  a  vividly  blue  eye  appeared  at  a 
narrow  crack. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  see  how  you  dare  to  l-live  in  such  a 
place,  Aunt  Phoebe !  "  she  cried  tearfully,  opening  the 
door  a  bit  wider.  "  Those  Indians  —  and  that  awful 
man — " 

"  That  was  only  Grant,  honey.  Let  me  in.  There  's 
a  few  things  I  want  to  say  to  you,  Vadnie.  You  prom- 
ised to  help  me  teach  my  boys  to  be  gentle  —  it 's  all 
they  lack,  and  it  takes  gentle  women,  honey — " 

"  I  am  gentle,"  Evadna  protested  grievedly.  "  I  've 
never  once  forgotten  to  be  gentle  and  quiet,  and  I 
have  n't  done  a  thing  to  them  —  but  they  're  horrid 
and  rough,  anyway — " 


THE    CHRISTMAS   ANGEL     47 

"  Let  me  in,  honey,  and  we  '11  talk  it  over.  Some- 
thing 's  got  to  be  done.  If  you  would  n't  be  so  timid, 
and  would  make  friends  with  them,  instead  of  looking 
at  them  as  if  you  expected  them  to  murder  you  —  I 
must  say,  Vadnie,  you  're  a  real  temptation ;  they  can't 
help  scaring  you  when  you  go  around  acting  as  if  you 
expected  to  be  scared.  You  —  you  're  too  — "  The 
door  opened  still  wider,  and  she  went  in.  "  Now,  the 
idea  of  a  great  girl  like  you  hiding  her  head  under  a 
pillow  just  because  Grant  asked  old  Hagar  to  apolo- 
gize!" 

Evadna  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed  and 
stared  unwinkingly  at  her  aunt.  "  They  don't  apologize 
like  that  in  New  Jersey,"  she  observed,  with  some  re- 
sentment in  her  voice,  and  dabbed  at  her  unbelievably 
blue  eyes  with  a  moist  ball  of  handkerchief. 

"  I  know  they  don't,  honey."  Phoebe  patted  her  hand 
reassuringly.  "  That 's  what  I  want  you  to  help  me 
teach  my  boys  —  to  be  real  gentlemen.  They  're  pure 
gold,  every  one  of  them ;  but  I  can't  deny  they  're 
pretty  rough  on  the  outside  sometimes.  And  I  hope 
you  will  be  — " 

"  Oh,  I  know.  I  understand  perfectly.  You  just 
got  me  out  here  as  a  —  a  sort  of  sandpaper  for  your 
boys'  manners !  "  Evadna  choked  over  a  little  sob  of 
self-pity.  "  I  can  just  tell  you  one  thing,  Aunt  Phoebe, 


48  GOOD    INDIAN 

that  fellow  you  call  Grant  ought  to  be  smoothed  with 
one  of  those  funny  axes  they  hew  logs  with." 

Phoebe  bit  her  lips  because  she  wanted  to  treat  the 
subject  very  seriously.  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me, 
honey,  that  you  will  be  particularly  nice  to  Grant; 
particularly  nice.  He  's  so  alone,  and  he  's  very  proud 
and  sensitive,  because  he  feels  his  loneliness.  No  one 
understands  him  as  I  do  — " 

"  I  hate  him !  "  gritted  Evadna,  in  an  emphatic 
whisper  which  her  Aunt  Phoebe  thought  it  wise  not  to 
seem  to  hear. 

Phoebe  settled  herself  comfortably  for  a  long  talk. 
The  murmur  of  her  voice  as  she  explained  and  com- 
forted and  advised  came  soothingly  from  the  room,  with 
now  and  then  an  interruption  while  she  waited  for  a 
tardy  answer  to  some  question.  Finally  she  rose  and 
stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  back  at  a  huddled  figure 
on  the  bed. 

"  Now  dry  your  eyes  and  be  a  good  girl,  and  remem- 
ber what  you  Ve  promised,"  she  admonished  kindly. 
"  Aunt  Phoebe  did  n't  mean  to  scold  you,  honey ;  she  only 
wants  you  to  feel  that  you  belong  here,  and  she  wants 
you  to  like  her  boys  and  have  them  like  you.  They  've 
always  wanted  a  sister  to  pet;  and  Aunt  Phoebe  is 
hoping  you  '11  not  disappoint  her.  You  '11  try ;  won't 
you,  Vadnie  ? " 


THE    CHRISTMAS    ANGEL     49 

"  Y-yes,"  murmured  Vadnie  meekly  from  the  pillow. 

"  I  know  you  will."  Phoebe  looked  at  her  for  a 
moment  longer  rather  wi&tfully,  and  turned  away.  "  I 
do  wish  she  had  some  spunk,"  she  muttered  complain- 
ingly,  not  thinking  that  Evadna  might  hear  her.  "  She 
don't  take  after  the  Kamseys  none  —  there  was  n't  any- 
thing mushy  about  them  that  I  ever  heard  of." 

"Mushy!  Mushy!"  Evadna  sat  up  and  stared  at 
nothing  at  all  while  she  repeated  the  word  under  her 
breath.  "  She  wants  me  to  be  gentle  —  she  preached 
gentleness  in  her  letters,  and  told  how  her  boys  need  it, 
and  then  —  she  calls  it  being  mushy!" 

She  reached  mechanically  for  her  hair-brush,  and 
fumbled  in  a  tumbled  mass  of  shining,  yellow  hair  quite 
as  unbelievable  in  its  way  as  were  her  eyes  —  Grant 
had  shown  a  faculty  for  observing  keenly  when  he 
called  her  a  Christmas  angel  —  and  drew  out  a  half- 
dozen  hairpins,  letting  them  slide  from  her  lap  to  the 
floor.  "  Mushy !  "  she  repeated,  and  shook  down  her 
hair  so  that  it  framed  her  face  and  those  eyes  of  hers. 
"  I  suppose  that 's  what  they  all  say  behind  my  back. 
And  how  can  a  girl  be  nice  without  being  mushy  ?  " 
She  drew  the  brush  meditatively  through  her  hair.  "  I 
am  scared  to  death  of  Indians,"  she  admitted,  with 
analytical  frankness,  "and  tarantulas  and  snakes  — 
but  —  mushy!  " 


50  GOOD    INDIAN 

Grant  stood  smoking  in  the  doorway  of  the  sitting- 
room,  where  he  could  look  out  upon  the  smooth  waters 
of  the  pond  darkening  under  the  shade  of  the  poplars 
and  the  bluff  behind,  when  Evadna  came  out  of  her 
room.  He  glanced  across  at  her,  saw  her  hesitate,  as  if 
she  were  meditating  a  retreat,  and  gave  his  shoulders 
a  twitch  of  tolerant  amusement  that  she  should  be 
afraid  of  him.  Then  he  stared  out  over  the  pond  again. 
Evadna  walked  straight  over  to  him. 

"  So  you  're  that  other  savage  whose  manners  I  'm 
supposed  to  smooth,  are  you  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly,  com- 
ing to  a  stop  within  three  feet  of  him,  and  regarding 
him  carefully,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her. 

"  Please  don't  tease  the  animals,"  Grant  returned,  in 
the  same  impersonal  tone  which  she  had  seen  fit  to 
employ  —  but  his  eyes  turned  for  a  sidelong  glance  at 
her,  although  he  appeared  to  be  watching  the  trout 
rise  lazily  to  the  insects  skimming  over  the  surface  of 
the  water. 

"  I  'm  supposed  to  be  nice  to  you  —  par-fo'e-ularly 
nice  —  because  you  need  it  most.  I  dare  say  you  do, 
judging  from  what  I  've  seen  of  you.  At  any  rate,  I  've 
promised.  But  I  just  want  you  to  understand  that 
I'm  not  going  to  mean  one  single  bit  of  it.  I  don't 
like  you  —  I  can't  endure  you !  —  and  if  I  'm  nice,  it 
will  just  be  because  I've  promised  Aunt  Phoebe. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   ANGEL     51 

You  're  not  to  take  my  politeness  at  its  face  value,  for 
back  of  it  I  shall  dislike  you  all  the  time." 

Grant's  lips  twitched,  and  there  was  a  covert  twinkle 
in  his  eyes,  though  he  looked  around  him  with  elaborate 
surprise. 

"  It 's  early  in  the  day  for  mosquitoes,"  he  drawled ; 
"  but  I  was  sure  I  heard  one  buzzing  somewhere  close." 

"Aunt  Phoebe  ought  to  get  a  street  roller  to  smooth 
your  manners,"  Evadna  observed  pointedly. 

"  Instead  it 's  as  if  she  hung  her  picture  of  a  Christ- 
mas angel  up  before  the  wolf's  den,  eh  ?  "  he  suggested 
calmly,  betraying  his  Indian  blood  in  the  uncon- 
sciously symbolic  form  of  expression.  "  No  doubt  the 
wolf's  nature  will  be  greatly  benefited  —  his  teeth  will 
be  dulled  for  his  prey,  his  voice  softened  for  the  night- 
cry  —  if  he  should  ever,  by  chance,  discover  that  the 
Christmas  angel  is  there." 

"  I  don't  think  he  '11  be  long  in  making  the  discov- 
ery." The  blue  of  Evadna's  eyes  darkened  and  dark- 
ened until  they  were  almost  black.  "  Christmas  angel 
—  well,  I  like  that !  Much  you  know  about  angels." 

Grant  turned  his  head  indolently  and  regarded  her. 

"  If  it  is  n't  a  Christmas  angel  —  they  're  always 
very  blue  and  very  golden,  and  pinky-whitey  —  if  it  ia 
n't  a  Christmas  angel,  for  the  Lord's  sake  what  is  it  ? " 
He  gave  his  head  a  slight  shake,  as  if  the  problem  was 


52  GOOD    INDIAN 

beyond  his  solving,  and  flicked  the  ashes  from  his 
cigarette. 

"  Oh,  I  could  pinch  you !  "  She  gritted  her  teeth  to 
prove  she  meant  what  she  said. 

"  It  says  it  could  pinch  me."  Grant  lazily  addressed 
the  trout.  "  I  wonder  why  it  did  n't,  then,  when  it  was 
being  squashed  ?  " 

"  I  just  wish  to  goodness  I  had !  Only  I  suppose 
Aunt  Phoebe — " 

"  I  do  believe  it 's  got  a  temper.  I  wonder,  now,  if 
it  could  be  a  live  angel  ? "  Grant  spoke  to  the  softly 
swaying  poplars. 

"  Oh,  you  —  there  now ! "  She  made  a  swift  little 
rush  at  him,  nipped  his  biceps  between  a  very  small 
thumb  and  two  fingers,  and  stood  back,  breathing  quickly 
and  regarding  him  in  a  shamed  defiance.  "  I  '11  show 
you  whether  I  'm  alive !  "  she  panted  vindictively. 

"  It 's  alive,  and  it 's  a  humming-bird.  Angels  don't 
pinch."  Grant  laid  a  finger  upon  his  arm  and  drawled 
his  solution  of  a  trivial  mystery.  "  It  mistook  me  for 
a  honeysuckle,  and  gave  me  a  peck  to  make  sure."  He 
smiled  indulgently,  and  exhaled  a  long  wreath  of  smoke 
from  his  nostrils.  "  Dear  little  humming-birds  —  so 
simple  and  so  harmless !  " 

"And  I've  promised  to  be  nice  to  —  that!"  cried 
Evadna,  in  bitterness,  and  rushed  past  him  to  the  porch. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    ANGEL     53 

Being  a  house  built  to  shelter  a  family  of  boys,  and 
steps  being  a  superfluity  scorned  by  their  agile  legs, 
there  was  a  sheer  drop  of  three  feet  to  the  ground  upon 
that  side.  Evadna  made  it  in  a  jump,  just  as  the  boys 
did,  and  landed  lightly  upon  her  slippered  feet. 

"I  hate  you  —  hate  you  —  hate  you!"  she  cried, 
her  eyes  blazing  up  at  his  amused  face  before  she  ran 
off  among  the  trees. 

"  It  sings  a  sweet  little  song,"  he  taunted,  and  his 
laughter  followed  her  mockingly  as  she  fled  from  him 
into  the  shadows. 

"  What 's  the  joke,  Good  Injun  ?  Tell  us,  so  we  can 
laugh  too."  Wally  and  Jack  hurried  in  from  the 
kitchen  and  made  for  the  doorway  where  he  stood. 

From  under  his  straight,  black  brows  Grant  sent  a 
keen  glance  into  the  shade  of  the  grove,  where,  an 
instant  before,  had  flickered  the  white  of  Evadna's 
dress.  The  shadows  lay  there  quietly  now,  undisturbed 
by  so  much  as  a  sleepy  bird's  fluttering  wings. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  the  way  I  yanked  that  dog 
down  into  old  Wolfbelly's  camp,"  he  said,  though  there 
was  no  tangible  reason  for  lying  to  them.  "  Mister !  " 
he  added,  his  eyes  still  searching  the  shadows  out  there 
in  the  grove,  "  we  certainly  did  go  some !  " 


CHAPTER  V 

"  I   DON'T    CARE    MUCH    ABOUT    GIELS  " 

"r  1^1  HERE  'S  no  use  asking  the  Injuns  to  go  on  the 

Ji.  warpath,"  Gene  announced  disgustedly,  com- 
ing out  upon  the  porch  where  the  rest  of  the  boys  were 
foregathered,  waiting  for  the  ringing  tattoo  upon  the 
iron  triangle  just  outside  the  back  door  which  would  be 
the  supper  summons.  "  They  're  too  lazy  to  take  the 
trouble  —  and,  besides,  they  're  scared  of  dad.  I  was 
talking  to  Sleeping  Turtle  just  now  —  met  him  down 
there  past  the  Point  o'  Rocks." 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  us  boys  going  on  the  war- 
path ourselves  ?  We  don't  need  the  Injuns.  As  long  as 
she  knows  they  're  hanging  around  close,  it 's  all  the 
same.  If  we  could  just  get  mum  off  the  ranch  —  " 

"  If  we  could  kidnap  her  —  say,  I  wonder  if  we 
could  n't !  "  Clark  looked  at  the  others  tentatively. 

"  Good  Injun  might  do  the  rescue  act  and  square 
himself  with  her  for  what  happened  at  the  milk- 
house,"  Wally  suggested  dryly. 

"  Oh,  say,  you  'd  scare  her  to  death.  There  's  no 
use  in  piling  it  on  quite  so  thick,"  Jack  interposed 


"I   DON'T    CARE    MUCH"      55 

mildly.  "  I  kinda  like  the  kid  sometimes.  Yesterday, 
when  I  took  her  part  way  up  the  bluff,  she  acted  almost 
human.  On  the  dead,  she  did !  " 

"  Kill  the  traitor !  Down  with  him !  Curses  on  the 
man  who  betrays  us ! "  growled  Wally,  waving  his 
cigarette  threateningly. 

Whereupon  Gene  and  Clark  seized  the  offender  by 
heels  and  shoulders,  and  with  a  brief,  panting  struggle 
heaved  him  bodily  off  the  porch. 

"  Over  the  cliff  he  goes  —  so  may  all  traitors  per- 
ish !  "  Wally  declaimed  approvingly,  drawing  up  his 
legs  hastily  out  of  the  way  of  Jack's  clutching  fingers. 

"  Say,  old  Peppajee  's  down  at  the  stable  with  papa," 
Donny  informed  them  breathlessly.  "  I  told  Marie  to 
put  him  right  next  to  Vadnie  if  he  stays  to  supper  — 
and,  uh  course,  he  will.  If  mamma  don't  get  next  and 
change  his  place,  it  '11  be  fun  to  watch  her ;  watch  Vad, 
I  mean.  She  's  scared  plum  to  death  of  anything  that 
wears  a  blanket,  and  to  have  one  right  at  her  elbow  — 
wonder  where  she  is  ?  " 

"  That  girl 's  got  to  be  educated  some  if  she  's  going 
to  live  in  this  family,"  Wally  observed  meditatively. 
"  There  's  a  whole  lot  she  's  got  to  learn,  and  the  only 
way  to  learn  her  thorough  is  —  " 

"  You  forget,"  Grant  interrupted  him  ironically, 
"  that  she  's  going  to  make  gentlemen  of  us  all." 


56  GOOD   INDIAN 

"  Oh,  yes  —  sure.  Jack  's  commg  down  with  it  al- 
ready. You  oughta  be  quarantined,  old-timer ;  that 's 
liable  to  be  catching."  Wally  snorted  his  disdain 
of  the  whole  proceeding.  "  I  'd  rather  go  to  jail  my- 
self." 

Evadna  by  a  circuitous  route  had  reached  the  sitting- 
room  without  being  seen  or  heard;  and  it  was  at  this 
point  in  the  conversation  that  she  tiptoed  out  again,  her 
hands  doubled  into  tight  little  fists,  and  her  teeth  set 
hard  together.  She  did  not  look,  at  that  moment,  in  the 
least  degree  "  mushy." 

When  the  triangle  clanged  its  supper  call,  however, 
she  came  slowly  down  from  her  favorite  nook  at  the 
head  of  the  pond,  her  hands  filled  with  flowers  hastily 
gathered  in  the  dusk. 

"  Here  she  comes  —  let 's  get  to  our  places  first,  so 
mamma  can't  change  Peppajee  around,"  Donny  im- 
plored, in  a  whisper;  and  the  group  on  the  porch  dis- 
appeared with  some  haste  into  the  kitchen. 

Evadna  was  leisurely  in  her  movements  that  night. 
The  tea  had  been  poured  and  handed  around  the  table 
by  the  Portuguese  girl,  Marie,  and  the  sugar-bowl  was 
going  after,  when  she  settled  herself  and  her  ruffles 
daintily  between  Grant  and  a  braided,  green-blanketed, 
dignifiedly  loquacious  Indian. 

The  boys  signaled  one  another  to  attention  by  kick- 


"I   DON'T    CARE   MUCH"      57 

ing  surreptitiously  under  the  table,  but  nothing  hap- 
pened. Evadna  bowed  a  demure  acknowledgment  when 
her  Aunt  Phoebe  introduced  the  two,  accepted  the  sugar- 
bowl  from  Grant  and  the  butter  from  Peppajee,  and 
went  composedly  about  the  business  of  eating  her  sup- 
per. She  seemed  perfectly  at  ease ;  too  perfectly  at  ease, 
decided  Grant,  who  had  an  instinct  for  observation  and 
was  covertly  watching  her.  It  was  unnatural  that  she 
should  rub  elbows  with  Peppajee  without  betraying  the 
faintest  trace  of  surprise  that  he  should  be  sitting  at  the 
table  with  them. 

"  Long  time  ago,"  Peppajee  was  saying  to  Peaceful, 
taking  up  the  conversation  where  Evadna  had  evidently 
interrupted  it,  "  many  winters  ago,  my  people  all  time 
brave.  All  time  hunt,  all  time  fight,  all  time  heap 
strong.  No  drinkum  whisky  all  same  now."  He 
flipped  a  braid  back  over  his  shoulder,  buttered  gener- 
ously a  hot  biscuit,  and  reached  for  the  honey.  "  No 
brave  no  more — kay  bueno.  All  time  ketchum  whisky, 
get  drunk  all  same  likum  hog.  Heap  lazy.  No  hunt  no 
more,  no  fight.  Lay  all  time  in  sun,  sleep.  No  sun 
come,  lay  all  time  in  wikiup.  Agent,  him  givum  flour, 
givum  meat,  givum  blanket,  you  thinkum  bueno.  Me 
tellum  you,  kay  bueno.  Makum  Injun  lazy.  Makum 
all  same  wachee-typo"  (tramp).  "All  time  eat,  all 
time  sleep,  playum  cards  all  time,  drinkum  whisky. 


58  GOOD    INDIAN 

Kay  bueno.  Huh."  The  grunt  stood  for  disgust  of  his 
tribe,  always  something  of  an  affectation  with  Peppajee. 

"My  brother,  my  brother's  wife,  my  brother's  wife's 
—  ah  —  "  He  searched  his  mind,  frowning,  for  an 
English  word,  gave  it  up,  and  substituted  a  phrase. 
"  All  the  folks  b'longum  my  brother's  wife,  heap  lazy 
all  time.  Me  no  likum.  Agent  one  time  givum  plenty 
flour,  plenty  meat,  plenty  tea.  Huh.  Them  damn' 
folks  no  eatum.  All  time  playum  cards,  drinkum 
whisky.  All  time  otha  fella  ketchum  flour,  ketchum 
meat,  ketchum  tea  —  ketchum  all  them  thing  b'longum." 
In  the  rhetorical  pause  he  made  there,  his  black  eyes 
wandered  inadvertently  to  Evadna's  face.  And  Evadna, 
the  timid  one,  actually  smiled  back. 

"  Is  n't  it  a  shame  they  should  do  that  ?  "  she  mur- 
mured sympathetically. 

"  Huh."  Peppajee  turned  his  eyes  and  his  attention 
to  Peaceful,  as  if  the  opinion  and  the  sympathy  of  a 
mere  female  were  not  worthy  his  notice.  "  Them  grub 
all  gone,  them  Injuns  mebbyso  ketchum  hungry  belly." 
Evadna  blushed,  and  looked  studiously  at  her  plate. 

"  Come  my  wikiup.  Me  got  plenty  flour,  plenty  meat, 
plenty  tea.  Stay  all  time  my  wikiup.  Sleepum  my 
wikiup.  Sun  come  up  "  —  he  pointed  a  brown,  sinewy 
hand  toward  the  east  —  "  eatum  my  grub.  Sun  up 
there  "  —  his  finger  indicated  the  zenith  —  "  eatum 


"I    DON'T    CARE    MUCH"      59 

some  more.  Sun  go  'way,  eatum  some  more.  Then 
sleepum  all  time  my  wikiup.  Bimeby,  mebbyso  my 
flour  all  gone,  my  meat  mebbyso  gone,  mebbyso  tea  — 
them  folks  all  time  eatum  grub,  me  no  ketchum.  Me  no 
playum  cards,  all  same  otha  fella  ketchum  my  grub. 
Kay  bueno.  Better  me  playum  cards  mebbyso  all  time. 

"  Bimeby  no  ketchum  mo'  grub,  no  stopum  my 
wikiup.  Them  folks  pikeway.  Me  tellum  '  Yo'  heap 
lazy,  heap  kay  bueno.  Yo'  all  time  eatum  my  grub, 
yo'  no  givum  me  money,  no  givum  hoss,  no  givum  not- 
ting.  Me  damn'  mad  all  time  yo'.  Yo'  go  damn' 
quick ! '  Peppajee  held  out  his  cup  for  more  tea. 
"  Me  tellum  my  brother,"  he  finished  sonorously,  his 
black  eyes  sweeping  lightly  the  faces  of  his  audience, 
"  yo'  no  come  back,  yo' — " 

Evadna  caught  her  breath,  as  if  someone  had  dashed 
cold  water  in  her  face.  Never  before  in  her  life  had 
she  heard  the  epithet  unprintable,  and  she  stared  fixedly 
at  the  old-fashioned,  silver  castor  which  always  stood  in 
the  exact  center  of  the  table. 

Old  Peaceful  Hart  cleared  his  throat,  glanced  fur- 
tively at  Phoabe,  and  drew  his  hand  down  over  his  white 
beard.  The  boys  puffed  their  cheeks  with  the  laughter 
they  would,  if  possible,  restrain,  and  eyed  Evadna's  set 
face  aslant.  It  was  Good  Indian  who  rebuked  the 
offender. 


60  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  Peppajee,  mebbyso  you  no  more  say  them  words," 
he  said  quietly.  "  Heap  kay  bueno.  White  man  no 
tellum  where  white  woman  hear.  White  woman  no 
likum  hear ;  all  time  heap  shame  for  her." 

"  Huh,"  grunted  Peppajee  doubtingly,  his  eyes  turn- 
ing to  Phoebe.  Times  before  had  he  said  them  before 
Phoebe  Hart,  and  she  had  passed  them  by  with  no  re- 
buke. Grant  read  the  glance,  and  answered  it. 

"  Mother  Hart  live  long  time  in  this  place,"  he  re- 
minded him.  "  Hear  bad  talk  many  times.  This  girl 
no  hear;  no  likum  hear.  You  sabe?  You  no  make 
shame  for  this  girl."  He  glanced  challengingly  across 
the  table  at  Wally,  whose  grin  was  growing  rather 
pronounced. 

"  Huh.  Mebbyso  you  boss  all  same  this  ranch  ? " 
Peppajee  retorted  sourly.  "  Mebbyso  Peacefu'  tellum, 
him  no  likum." 

Peaceful,  thus  drawn  into  the  discussion,  cleared  his 
throat  again. 

"  Wel-1-1  —  we  don't  cuss  much  before  the  women," 
he  admitted  apologetically  "We  kinda  consider  that 
men's  talk.  I  reckon  Vadnie  '11  overlook  it  this  time." 
He  looked  across  at  her  beseechingly.  "  You  no  feelum 
bad,  Peppajee." 

"  Huh.  Me  no  makum  squaw-talk."  Peppajee  laid 
down  his  knife,  lifted  a  corner  of  his  blanket,  and  drew 


"I   DON'T    CARE   MUCH'       61 

it  slowly  across  his  stern  mouth.  He  muttered  a  slight- 
ing sentence  in  Indian. 

In  the  same  tongue  Grant  answered  him  sharply,  and 
after  that  was  silence  broken  only  by  the  subdued 
table  sounds.  Evadna's  eyes  filled  slowly  until  she 
finally  pushed  back  her  chair  and  hurried  out  into  the 
yard  and  away  from  the  dogged  silence  of  that  blanketed 
figure  at  her  elbow. 

She  was  scarcely  settled  in  the  hammock,  ready  for 
a  comforting  half  hour  of  tears,  when  someone  came 
from  the  house,  stood  for  a  minute  while  he  rolled  a 
cigarette,  and  then  came  straight  toward  her. 

She  sat  up,  and  waited  defensively.  More  baiting, 
without  a  doubt  —  and  she  was  not  in  the  mood  to  re- 
member any  promises  about  being  a  nice,  gentle  little 
thing.  The  figure  came  close,  stooped,  and  took  her  by 
the  arm.  In  the  half-light  she  knew  him  then.  It  was 
Grant. 

"  Come  over  by  the  pond,"  he  said,  in  what  was  al- 
most a  command.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  little." 

"  Does  it  occur  to  you  that  I  might  not  want  to  talk 
to  you  ? "  Still,  she  let  him  help  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Surely.  You  need  n't  open  your  lips  if  you  don't 
want  to.  Just  '  lend  me  your  ears,  and  be  silent  that 
ye  may  hear.'  The  boys  will  be  boiling  out  on  the 
porch,  as  usual,  in  a  minute;  so  hurry." 


62  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  I  hope  it 's  something  very  important,"  Evadna 
hinted  ungraciously.  "  Nothing  else  would  excuse  this 
high-handed  proceeding." 

When  they  had  reached  the  great  rock  where  the 
pond  had  its  outlet,  and  where  was  a  rude  seat  hidden 
away  in  a  clump  of  young  willows  just  across  the 
bridge,  he  answered  her. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it 's  of  any  importance  at  all," 
he  said  calmly.  "  I  got  to  feeling  rather  ashamed  of 
myself,  is  all,  and  it  seemed  to  me  the  only  decent  thing 
was  to  tell  you  so.  I  'm  not  making  any  bid  for  your 
favor  —  I  don't  know  that  I  want  it.  I  don't  care  much 
about  girls,  one  way  or  the  other.  But,  for  all  I  've 
got  the  name  of  being  several  things  —  a  savage  among 
the  rest  —  I  don't  like  to  feel  such  a  brute  as  to  make 
war  on  a  girl  that  seems  to  be  getting  it  handed  to  her 
right  along." 

He  tardily  lighted  his  cigarette  and  sat  smoking  be- 
side her,  the  tiny  glow  lighting  his  face  briefly  now  and 
then. 

"  When  I  was  joshing  you  there  before  supper,"  he 
went  on,  speaking  low  that  he  might  not  be  overheard  — 
and  ridiculed  —  from  the  house,  "  I  did  n't  know  the 
whole  outfit  was  making  a  practice  of  doing  the  same 
thing.  I  had  n't  heard  about  the  dead  tarantula  on 
your  pillow,  or  the  rattler  coiled  up  on  the  porch,  or  any 


<I   DON'T    CARE   MUCH'       63 

of  those  innocent  little  jokes.  But  if  the  rest  are  mak- 
ing it  their  business  to  devil  the  life  out  of  you,  why  — 
common  humanity  forces  me  to  apologize  and  tell  you 
I  'm  out  of  it  from  now  on." 

"  Oh !  Thank  you  very  much."  Evadna's  tone  might 
be  considered  ironical.  "  I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  that 
your  statement  lessens  my  dislike  of  you  — " 

"  Not  at  all."  Grant  interrupted  her.  "  Go  right 
ahead  and  hate  me,  if  you  feel  that  way.  It  won't 
matter  to  me  —  girls  never  did  concern  me  much,  one 
way  or  the  other.  I  never  was  susceptible  to  beauty, 
and  that  seems  to  be  a  woman's  trump  card,  always  — " 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  " 

"  Sounds  queer,  does  it  ?  But  it 's  the  truth,  and  so 
what 's  the  use  of  lying,  just  to  be  polite  ?  I  won't  tor- 
ment you  any  more ;  and  if  the  boys  rig  up  too  strong 
a  josh,  I  'm  liable  to  give  you  a  hint  beforehand.  I  'm 
willing  to  do  that  —  my  sympathies  are  always  with  the 
under  dog,  anyway,  and  they  're  five  to  one.  But  that 
need  n't  mean  that  I  'm  —  that  I  — "  He  groped  for 
words  that  would  not  make  his  meaning  too  bald;  not 
even  Grant  could  quite  bring  himself  to  warn  a  girl 
against  believing  him  a  victim  of  her  fascinations. 

"  You  need  n't  stutter.  I  'm  not  really  stupid. 
You  don't  like  me  any  better  than  I  like  you.  I  can 
see  that.  We  're  to  be  as  decent  as  possible  to  each 


64  GOOD    INDIAN 

other  —  you 'from  (  common  humanity,'  and  I  because  I 
promised  Aunt  Phoebe." 

"  We-e-11  —  that 's  about  it,  I  guess."  Grant  eyed 
her  sidelong.  "  Only  I  would  n't  go  so  far  as  to  say 
I  actually  dislike  you.  I  never  did  dislike  a  girl,  that 
I  remember.  I  never  thought  enough  about  them,  one 
way  or  the  other."  He  seemed  rather  fond  of  that 
statement,  he  repeated  it  so  often.  "  The  life  I  live 
does  n't  call  for  girls.  But  that 's  neither  here  nor 
there.  What  I  wanted  to  say  was,  that  I  won't  bother 
you  any  more.  I  would  n't  have  said  a  word  to  you  to- 
night, if  you  had  n't  walked  right  up  to  me  and  started 
to  dig  into  me.  Of  course,  I  had  to  fight  back  —  the 
man  who  won't  is  n't  a  normal  human  being." 

"  Oh,  I  know."  Evadna's  tone  was  resentful.  "  From 
Adam  down  to  you,  it  has  always  been  '  The  woman,  she 
tempted  me.'  You  're  perfectly  horrid,  even  if  you 
have  apologized.  '  The  woman,  she  tempted  me,'  and 
so—" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  the  woman  did  n't,"  he  cor- 
rected blandly.  "  The  woman  insisted  on  scrapping. 
That 's  different." 

"  Oh,  it 's  different !  I  see.  I  have  almost  forgotten 
something  I  ought  to  say,  Mr.  Imsen.  I  must  thank 
you  for  —  well,  for  defending  me  to  that  Indian." 

"  I  did  n't.    Nobody  was  attacking  you,  so  I  could  n't 


"I   DON'T    CARE    MUCH'       65 

very  well  defend  you,  could  I  ?  I  had  to  take  a  fall  out 
of  old  Peppajee,  just  on  principle.  I  don't  get  along 
very  well  with  my  noble  red  cousins.  I  was  n't  doing  it 
on  your  account,  in  particular." 

"  Oh,  I  see."  She  rose  rather  suddenly  from  the 
bench.  "  It  was  n't  even  common  humanity,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  even  common  humanity,"  he  echoed  affirma- 
tively. "  Just  a  chance  I  could  n't  afford  to  pass  up,  of 
digging  into  Peppajee." 

"  That 's  different."  She  laughed  shortly  and  left 
him,  running  swiftly  through  the  warm  dusk  to  the  mur- 
mur of  voices  at  the  house. 

Grant  sat  where  she  left  him,  and  smoked  two 
cigarettes  meditatively  before  he  thought  of  returning 
to  the  house.  When  he  finally  did  get  upon  his  feet, 
he  stretched  his  arms  high  above  his  head,  and  stared 
for  a  moment  up  at  the  treetops  swaying  languidly  just 
under  the  stars. 

"  Girls  must  play  the  very  deuce  with  a  man  if  he 
ever  lets  them  get  on  his  mind,"  he  mused.  "  I  see  right 
now  where  a  fellow  about  my  size  and  complexion  had 
better  watch  out."  But  he  smiled  afterward,  as  if  he 
did  not  consider  the  matter  very  serious,  after  all. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    CHRISTMAS    ANGEL    PLAYS    GHOST 

A'  midnight,  the  Peaceful  Hart  ranch  lay  broodily 
quiet  under  its  rock-rimmed  bluff.  Down  in  the 
stable  the  saddle-horses  were  but  formless  blots  upon 
the  rumpled  bedding  in  their  stalls  —  except  Huckle- 
berry, the  friendly  little  pinto  with  the  white  eyelashes 
and  the  blue  eyes,  and  the  great,  liver-colored  patches 
upon  his  sides,  and  the  appetite  which  demanded  food 
at  unseasonable  hours,  who  was  now  munching  and 
nosing  industriously  in  the  depths  of  his  manger,  and 
making  a  good  deal  of  noise  about  it. 

Outside,  one  of  the  milch  cows  drew  a  long,  sighing 
breath  of  content  with  life,  lifted  a  cud  in  mysterious, 
bovine  manner,  and  chewed  dreamily.  Somewhere  up 
the  bluff  a  bobcat  squalled  among  the  rocks,  and  the 
moon,  in  its  dissipated  season  of  late  rising,  lifted 
itself  indolently  up  to  where  it  could  peer  down  upon 
the  silent  ranch. 

In  the  grove  where  the  tiny  creek  gurgled  under  the 
little  stone  bridge,  someone  was  snoring  rhythmically 
in  his  blankets,  for  the  boys  had  taken  to  sleeping  in  the 


THE  ANGEL  PLAYS  GHOST  67 

open  air  before  the  earliest  rose  had  opened  buds  in  the 
sunny  shelter  of  the  porch.  Three  feet  away,  a  sleeper 
stirred  restlessly,  lifted  his  head  from  the  pillow,  and 
slapped  half-heartedly  at  an  early  mosquito  that  was 
humming  in  his  ear.  He  reached  out,  and  jogged  the 
shoulder  of  him  who  snored. 

"  Say,  Gene,  if  you  've  got  to  sleep  at  the  top  of  your 
voice,  you  better  drag  your  bed  down  into  the  orchard," 
he  growled.  "  Let  up  a  little,  can't  yuh  ?  " 

"  Ah,  shut  up  and  let  a  fellow  sleep !  "  mumbled 
Gene,  snuggling  the  covers  up  to  his  ears. 

"  Just  what  I  want  you  to  do.  You  snore  like  a  saw- 
mill. Darn  it,  you  've  got  to  get  out  of  the  grove  if  yuh 
can't—" 

"  Ah-h — ee-ee!"  wailed  a  voice  somewhere  among 
the  trees,  the  sound  rising  weirdly  to  a  subdued  cres- 
cendo, clinging  there  until  one's  flesh  went  creepy,  and 
then  sliding  mournfully  down  to  silence. 

"What's  that?"  The  two  jerked  themselves  to  a 
sitting  position,  and  stared  into  the  blackness  of  the 
grove. 

"  Bobcat,"  whispered  Clark,  in  a  tone  which  con- 
vinced not  even  himself. 

"  In  a  pig's  ear,"  flouted  Gene,  under  his  breath. 
He  leaned  far  over  and  poked  his  finger  into  a  muffled 
form.  "  D'yuh  hear  that  noise,  Grant  ?  " 


68  GOOD    INDIAN 

Grant  sat  up  instantly.  "  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  he 
demanded,  rather  ill-naturedly,  if  the  truth  be  told. 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  —  a  funny  noise,  like  — " 

The  cry  itself  finished  the  sentence  for  him.  It  came 
from  nowhere,  it  would  seem,  since  they  could  see  noth- 
ing ;  rose  slowly  to  a  subdued  shriek,  clung  there  nerve- 
wrackingly,  and  then  wailed  mournfully  down  to 
silence.  Afterward,  while  their  ears  were  still  strained 
to  the  sound,  the  bobcat  squalled  an  answer  from  among 
the  rocks. 

"  Yes,  I  heard  it,"  said  Grant.  "  It 's  a  spook.  It 's 
the  wail  of  a  lost  spirit,  loosed  temporarily  from  the 
horrors  of  purgatory.  It 's  sent  as  a  warning  to  repent 
you  of  your  sins,  and  it 's  howling  because  it  hates  to 
go  back.  What  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

He  made  his  own  intention  plain  beyond  any  pos- 
sibility of  misunderstanding.  He  lay  down  and  pulled 
the  blanket  over  his  shoulders,  cuddled  his  pillow  under 
his  head,  and  disposed  himself  to  sleep. 

The  moon  climbed  higher,  and  sent  silvery  splinters 
of  light  quivering  down  among  the  trees.  A  frog 
crawled  out  upon  a  great  lily-pad  and  croaked  dismally. 

Again  came  the  wailing  cry,  nearer  than  before,  more 
subdued,  and  for  that  reason  more  eerily  mournful. 
Grant  sat  up,  muttered  to  himself,  and  hastily  pulled  on 
some  clothes.  The  frog  cut  himself  short  in  the  middle 


THE  ANGEL  PLAYS  GHOST  69 

of  a  deep-throated  arr-rr-umph  and  dove  headlong  into 
the  pond;  and  the  splash  of  his  body  cleaving  the  still 
surface  of  the  water  made  Gene  shiver  nervously. 
Grant  reached  under  his  pillow  for  something,  and 
freed  himself  stealthily  from  a  blanketfold. 

"  If  that  spook  don't  talk  Indian  when  it 's  at  home, 
I  'm  very  much  mistaken,"  he  whispered  to  Clark,  who 
was  nearest.  "  You  boys  stay  here." 

Since  they  had  no  intention  of  doing  anything  else, 
they  obeyed  him  implicitly  and  without  argument,  espe- 
cially as  a  flitting  white  figure  appeared  briefly  and 
indistinctly  in  a  shadow-flecked  patch  of  moonlight. 
Crouching  low  in  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  bushes,  Grant 
stole  toward  the  spot. 

When  he  reached  the  place,  the  thing  was  not  there. 
Instead,  he  glimpsed  it  farther  on,  and  gave  chase,  tak- 
ing what  precautions  he  could  against  betraying  him- 
self. Through  the  grove  and  the  gate  and  across  the 
road  he  followed,  in  doubt  half  the  time  whether  it 
was  worth  the  trouble.  Still,  if  it  was  what  he  sus- 
pected, a  lesson  taught  now  would  probably  insure 
against  future  disturbances  of  the  sort,  he  thought,  and 
kept  stubbornly  on.  Once  more  he  heard  the  dismal  cry, 
and  fancied  it  held  a  mocking  note. 

"  I  '11  settle  that  mighty  quick,"  he  promised  grimly, 
as  he  jumped  a  ditch  and  ran  toward  the  place. 


70  GOOD    INDIAN 

Somewhere  among  the  currant  bushes  was  a  sound 
of  eery  laughter.  He  swerved  toward  the  place,  saw  a 
white  form  rise  suddenly  from  the  very  ground,  as  it 
seemed,  and  lift  an  arm  with  a  slow,  beckoning  gesture. 
Without  taking  aim,  he  raised  his  gun  and  fired  a  shot 
at  it.  The  arm  dropped  rather  suddenly,  and  the  white 
form  vanished.  He  hurried  up  to  where  it  had  stood, 
knelt,  and  felt  of  the  soft  earth.  Without  a  doubt 
there  were  footprints  there  —  he  could  feel  them.  But 
he  had  n't  a  match  with  him,  and  the  place  was  in 
deep  shade. 

He  stood  up  and  listened,  thought  he  heard  a  faint 
sound  farther  along,  and  ran.  There  was  no  use  now 
in  going  quietly;  what  counted  most  was  speed. 

Once  more  he  caught  sight  of  the  white  form  flee- 
ing from  him  like  the  very  wraith  it  would  have  him 
believe  it.  Then  he  lost  it  again ;  and  when  he  reached 
the  spot  where  it  disappeared,  he  fell  headlong,  his 
feet  tangled  in  some  white  stuff.  He  swore  audibly, 
picked  himself  up,  and  held  the  cloth  where  the  moon 
shone  full  upon  it.  It  looked  like  a  sheet,  or  something 
of  the  sort,  and  near  one  edge  was  a  moist  patch  of  red. 
He  stared  at  it  dismayed,  crumpled  the  cloth  into  a 
compact  bundle,  tucked  it  under  his  arm,  and  ran 
on,  his  ears  strained  to  catch  some  sound  to  guide 
him. 


THE  ANGEL  PLAYS  GHOST  71 

"  Well,  anyhow,  I  did  n't  kill  him,"  he  muttered  un- 
easily as  he  crawled  through  a  fence  into  the  orchard. 
"  He  's  making  a  pretty  swift  get-away  for  a  fellow 
that 's  been  shot." 

In  the  orchard  the  patches  of  moonlight  were  larger, 
and  across  one  of  them  he  glimpsed  a  dark  object,  run- 
ning wearily.  Grant  repressed  an  impulse  to  shout,  and 
used  the  breath  for  an  extra  burst  of  speed.  The  ghost 
was  making  for  the  fence  again,  as  if  it  would  double 
upon  its  trail  and  reach  some  previously  chosen  refuge. 
Grant  turned  and  ran  also  toward  the  fence,  guessing 
shrewdly  that  the  fugitive  would  head  for  the  place 
where  the  wire  could  be  spread  about,  and  a  beaten 
trail  led  from  there  straight  out  to  the  road  which 
passed  the  house.  It  was  the  short  cut  from  the  peach 
orchard;  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  this  particular 
spook  seemed  perfectly  familiar  with  the  byways  of  the 
ranch.  Near  the  fence  he  made  a  discovery  that  startled 
him  a  little. 

"  It 's  a  squaw,  by  Jove !  "  he  cried  when  he  caught 
an  unmistakable  flicker  of  skirts ;  and  the  next  moment 
he  could  have  laughed  aloud  if  he  had  not  been  winded 
from  the  chase.  The  figure  reached  the  fence  before 
him,  and  in  the  dim  light  he  could  see  it  stoop  to  pass 
through.  Then  it  seemed  as  if  the  barbs  had  caught  in 
its  clothing  and  held  it  there.  It  struggled  to  free  it- 


72  GOOD    INDIAN 

self ;  and  in  the  next  minute  he  rushed  up  and  clutched 
it  fast. 

"  Why  don't  you  float  over  the  treetops  ?  "  he  panted 
ironically.  "  Ghosts  have  no  business  getting  their 
spirit  raiment  tangled  up  in  a  barbed-wire  fence." 

It  answered  with  a  little  exclamation,  with  a  sob 
following  close  upon  it.  There  was  a  sound  of  tearing 
cloth,  and  he  held  his  captive  upright,  and  with  a  merci- 
less hand  turned  her  face  so  that  the  moonlight  struck 
it  full.  They  stared  at  each  other,  breathing  hard 
from  more  than  the  race  they  had  run. 

"  Well  —  I  '11  —  be  — "  Grant  began,  in  blank  amaze- 
ment. 

She  wriggled  her  chin  in  his  palm,  trying  to  free 
herself  from  his  pitiless  staring.  Failing  that,  she 
began  to  sob  angrily  without  any  tears  in  her  wide 
eyes. 

"  You  —  shot  me,  you  brute !  "  she  cried  accusingly 
at  last.  "  You  —  shot  me !  "  And  she  sobbed  again. 

Before  he  answered,  he  drew  backward  a  step  or  two, 
sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  a  rock  which  had  rolled  out 
from  a  stone-heap,  and  pulled  her  down  beside  him, 
still  holding  her  fast,  as  if  he  half  believed  her  capable 
of  soaring  away  over  the  treetops,  after  all. 

"  I  guess  I  did  n't  murder  you  —  from  the  chase  you 
gave  me.  Did  I  hit  you  at  all  ?  " 


THE  ANGEL  PLAYS  GHOST  73 

"  Yes,  you  did !  You  nearly  broke  my  arm  —  and 
you  might  have  killed  me,  you  big  brute!  Look  what 
you  did  —  and  I  never  harmed  you  at  all !  "  She 
pushed  up  a  sleeve,  and  held  out  her  arm  accusingly  in 
the  moonlight,  disclosing  a  tiny,  red  furrow  where  the 
skin  was  broken  and  still  bleeding.  "  And  you  shot  a 
big  hole  right  through  Aunt  Phoebe's  sheet !  "  she  added, 
with  tearful  severity. 

He  caught  her  arm,  bent  his  head  over  it  —  and  for 
a  moment  he  was  perilously  near  to  kissing  it;  an  im- 
pulse which  astonished  him  considerably,  and  angered 
him  more.  He  dropped  the  arm  rather  precipitately; 
and  she  lifted  it  again,  and  regarded  the  wound  with 
mournful  interest. 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  what  right  you  have  to  prowl 
around  shooting  at  people,"  she  scolded,  seeing  how  close 
she  could  come  to  touching  the  place  with  her  finger- 
tips without  producing  any  but  a  pleasurable  pain. 

"  Just  as  much  right  as  you  have  to  get  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  go  howling  all  over  the  ranch 
wrapped  up  in  a  sheet,"  he  retorted  ungallantly. 

"  Well,  if  I  want  to  do  it,  I  don't  see  why  you  need 
concern  yourself  about  it.  I  was  n't  doing  it  for  your 
benefit,  anyway." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  did  do  it  for  ?  Of  all  the 
silly  tomfoolery — " 


74  GOOD    INDIAN 

An  impish  smile  quite  obliterated  the  Christmas- 
angel  logk  for  an  instant,  then  vanished,  and  left  her  a 
pretty,  abused  maiden  who  is  grieved  at  harsh  treat- 
ment. 

"  Well,  I  wanted  to  scare  Gene,"  she  confessed.  "  I 
did,  too.  I  just  know  he  's  a  cowardy-cat,  because  he  's 
always  trying  to  scare  me.  It 's  Gene's  fault  —  he  told 
me  the  grove  is  haunted.  He  said  a  long  time  ago,  be- 
fore Uncle  Hart  settled  here,  a  lot  of  Indians  waylaid 
a  wagon-train  here  and  killed  a  girl,  and  he  says  that 
when  the  moon  is  just  past  the  full,  something  white 
walks  through  the  grove  and  wails  like  a  lost  soul  in 
torment.  He  says  sometimes  it  comes  and  moans  at  the 
corner  of  the  house  where  my  room  is.  I  just  know  he 
was  going  to  do  it  himself;  but  I  guess  he  forgot.  So 
I  thought  I  'd  see  if  he  believed  his  own  yarns.  I  was 
going  to  do  it  every  night  till  I  scared  him  into  sleep- 
ing in  the  house.  I  had  a  perfectly  lovely  place  to 
disappear  into,  where  he  could  n't  trace  me  if  he  took 
to  hunting  around  —  only  he  would  n't  dare."  She 
pulled  down  her  sleeve  very  carefully,  and  then,  just 
as  carefully,  she  pushed  it  up  again,  and  took  another 
look. 

"  My  best  friend  told  me  I  'd  get  shot  if  I  came  to 
Idaho,"  she  reminded  herself,  with  a  melancholy  satis- 
faction. 


THE  ANGEL  PLAYS  GHOST  75 

"  You  did  n't  get  shot,"  Grant  contradicted  for  the  sake 
of  drawing  more  sparks  of  temper  where  temped  seemed 
quaintly  out  of  place,  and  stared  hard  at  her  drooping 
profile.  "  You  just  got  nicely  missed ;  a  bullet  that  only 
scrapes  off  a  little  skin  can't  be  said  to  hit.  I  'd  hate 
to  hit  a  bear  like  that." 

"  I  believe  you  're  wishing  you  had  killed  me !  You 
might  at  least  have  some  conscience  in  the  matter,  and 
be  sorry  you  shot  a  lady.  But  you  're  not.  You  just 
wish  you  had  murdered  me.  You  hate  girls  —  you  said 
so.  And  I  don't  know  what  business  it  is  of  yours,  if 
I  want  to  play  a  joke  on  my  cousin,  or  why  you  had 
to  be  sleeping  outside,  anyway.  I  've  a  perfect  right 
to  be  a  ghost  if  I  choose  —  and  I  don't  call  it  nice,  or 
polite,  or  gentlemanly  for  you  to  chase  me  all  over  the 
place  with  a  gun,  trying  to  kill  me !  I  '11  never  speak 
to  you  again  as  long  as  I  live.  When  I  say  that  I  mean 
it.  I  never  liked  you  from  the  very  start,  when  I  first 
saw  you  this  afternoon.  Now  I  hate  and  despise  you.  I 
suppose  I  ought  n't  to  expect  you  to  apologize  or  be 
sorry  because  you  almost  killed  me.  I  suppose  that 's 
just  your  real  nature  coming  to  the  surface.  Indians 
love  to  hurt  and  torture  people !  I  should  n't  have  ex- 
pected anything  else  of  you,  I  suppose.  I  made  the 
mistake  of  treating  you  like  a  white  man." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  're  making  another  mistake 


76  GOOD    INDIAN 

right  now  ?  "  Grant's  whole  attitude  changed,  as  well 
as  his  tone.  "  Are  n't  you  afraid  to  push  the  white  man 
down  into  the  dirt,  and  raise  up  —  the  Indian?  " 

She  cast  a  swift,  half-frightened  glance  up  into  his 
face  and  the  eyes  that  glowed  ominously  in  the  moon- 
light. 

"  When  people  make  the  blunder  of  calling  up  the 
Indian,"  he  went  on  steadily,  "they  usually  find  that 
they  have  to  deal  with  —  the  Indian." 

Evadna  looked  at  him  again,  and  turned  slowly  white 
before  her  temper  surged  to  the  surface  again. 

"  I  did  n't  call  up  the  Indian,"  she  defended  hotly ; 
"but  if  the  Indian  wants  to  deal  with  me  according 
to  his  nature  —  why,  let  him !  But  you  don't  act  like 
other  people !  I  don't  know  another  man  who  would  n't 
have  been  horrified  at  shooting  me,  even  such  a  tiny 
little  bit;  but  you  don't  care  at  all.  You  never  even 
said  you  were  sorry." 

"  I  'm  not  in  the  habit  of  saying  all  I  think  and 
feel." 

"  You  were  quick  enough  to  apologize,  after  supper 
there,  when  you  had  n't  really  done  anything ;  and  now, 
when  one  would  expect  you  to  be  at  least  decently  sorry, 
you  —  you  —  well,  you  act  like  the  savage  you  are! 
There,  now !  It  may  not  be  nice  to  say  it,  but  it 's  the 
truth." 


THE  ANGEL  PLAYS  GHOST  77 

Grant  smiled  bitterly.  "  All  men  are  savages  under 
the  skin,"  he  said.  "  How  do  you  know  what  I  think 
and  feel  ?  If  I  fail  to  come  through  with  the  conven- 
tional patter,  I  am  called  an  Indian  —  because  my 
mother  was  a  half-breed."  He  threw  up  his  head 
proudly,  let  his  eyes  rest  for  a  moment  upon  the  moon, 
swimming  through  a  white  river  of  clouds  just  over 
the  tall  poplar  hedge  planted  long  ago  to  shelter  the 
orchard  from  the  sweeping  west  winds;  and,  when  he 
looked  down  at  her  again,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  re- 
pentant tears  in  her  eyes,  and  softened. 

"  Oh,  you  're  a  girl,  and  you  demand  the  usual  amount 
of  poor-pussy  talk,"  he  told  her  maliciously.  "  So  I  'm 
sorry.  I  'm  heartbroken.  If  it  will  help  any,  I  '11  even 
kiss  the  hurt  to  make  it  well  —  and  I  'm  not  a  kissing 
young  man,  either,  let  me  tell  you." 

"  I  'd  die  before  I  'd  let  you  touch  me !  "  Her  re- 
pentance, if  it  was  that,  changed  to  pure  rage.  She 
snatched  the  torn  sheet  from  him  and  turned  abruptly 
toward  the  fence.  He  followed  her,  apparently  un- 
moved by  her  attitude;  placed  his  foot  upon  the  lower 
wire  and  pressed  it  into  the  soft  earth,  lifted  the  one 
next  above  it  as  high  as  it  would  go,  and  thus  made 
it  easier  for  her  to  pass  through.  She  seemed  to 
hesitate  for  a  moment,  as  though  tempted  to  reject 
even  that  slight  favor,  then  stooped,  and  went  through. 


78  GOOD    INDIAN 

As  the  wires  snapped  into  place,  she  halted  and  looked 
back  at  him. 

"  Maybe  I  've  been  mean  —  but  you  Ve  been 
meaner,"  she  summed  up,  in  self -justification.  "  I  sup- 
pose the  next  thing  you  will  do  will  be  to  tell  the  boys. 
Well,  I  don't  care  what  you  do,  so  long  as  you  never 
speak  to  me  again.  Go  and  tell  them  if  you  want  to  — 
tell.  Tell,  do  you  hear  ?  I  don't  want  even  the  favor  of 
your  silence !  "  She  dexterously  tucked  the  bundle  of 
white  under  the  uninjured  arm,  caught  the  loose  folds 
of  her  skirt  up  in  her  hands,  and  ran  away  up  the  path, 
not  once  stopping  to  see  whether  he  still  followed 
her. 

Grant  did  not  follow.  He  stood  leaning  against  the 
fence-post,  and  watched  her  until  her  flying  form  grew 
indistinct  in  the  shade  of  the  poplar  hedge ;  watched  it 
reappear  in  a  broad  strip  of  white  moonlight,  still  run- 
ning; saw  it  turn,  slacken  speed  to  a  walk,  and  then 
lose  itself  in  the  darkness  of  the  grove. 

Five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  he  stood  there,  staring 
across  the  level  bit  of  valley  lying  quiet  at  the  foot  of 
the  jagged-rimmed  bluff  standing  boldly  up  against  the 
star-flecked  sky.  Then  he  shook  himself  impatiently, 
muttered  something  which  had  to  do  with  a  "  dodder- 
ing fool,"  and  retraced  his  steps  quickly  through  the 
orchard,  the  currant  bushes,  and  the  strawberry  patch, 


THE  ANGEL  PLAYS  GHOST  79 

jumped  the  ditch,  and  so  entered  the  grove  and  returned 
to  his  blankets. 

"  We  thought  the  spook  had  got  yuh,  sure."  Gene 
lifted  his  head  turtlewise  and  laughed  deprecatingly. 
"  We  was  just  about  ready  to  start  out  after  the  corpse, 
only  we  did  n't  know  but  what  you  might  get  excited 
and  take  a  shot  at  us  in  the  dark.  We  heard  yuh  shoot 
—  what  was  it  ?  Did  you  find  out  ? " 

"  It  was  n't  anything,"  said  Grant  shortly,  tugging 
at  a  boot. 

"  Ah  —  there  was,  too !  What  was  it  you  shot  at  ?  " 
Clark  joined  in  the  argument  from  the  blackness  under 
the  locust  tree. 

"The  moon,"  Grant  told  him  sullenly.  "There 
was  n't  anything  else  that  I  could  see." 

"  And  that 's  a  lie,"  Gene  amended,  with  the  frank- 
ness of  a  foster-brother.  "  Something  yelled  like  — " 

"  You  never  heard  a  screech-owl  before,  did  you, 
Gene  ? "  Grant  crept  between  his  blankets  and  snug- 
gled down,  as  if  his  mind  held  nothing  more  important 
than  sleep. 

"Screech-owl  my  granny!  You  bumped  into  some- 
thing you  could  n't  handle  —  if  you  want  to  know  what 
I  think  about  it,"  Clark  guessed  shrewdly.  "  I  wish 
now  I  'd  taken  the  trouble  to  hunt  the  thing  down ;  it 
did  n't  seem  worth  while  getting  up.  But  I  leave  it  to 


80  GOOD    INDIAN 

Gene  if  you  ain't  mad  enough  to  murder  whatever  it 
was.  What  was  it  ?  " 

He  waited  a  moment  without  getting  a  reply. 

"  Well,  keep  your  teeth  shut  down  on  it,  then,  darn 
yuh ! "  he  growled.  "  That 's  the  Injun  of  it  —  I  know 
you!  Screech-owl — huh!  You  said  when  you  left  it 
was  an  Indian  —  and  that 's  why  we  did  n't  take  after 
it  ourselves.  We  don't  want  to  get  the  whole  bunch 
down  on  us  like  they  are  on  you  —  and  if  there  was  one 
acting  up  around  here,  we  knew  blamed  well  it  was  on 
your  account  for  what  happened  to-day.  I  guess  you 
found  out,  all  right.  I  knew  the  minute  you  heaved  in 
sight  that  you  was  just  about  as  mad  as  you  can  get  — 
and  that's  saying  a  whole  lot.  If  it  was  an  Indian, 
and  you  killed  him,  you  better  let  us  — " 

"  Oh,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  will  you  shut  up!  "  Grant 
raised  to  an  elbow,  glared  a  moment,  and  lay  down 
again. 

The  result  proved  the  sort  of  fellow  he  was.  Clark 
shut  up  without  even  trailing  off  into  mumbling  to 
himself,  as  was  his  habit  when  argument  brought  him 
defeat. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MISS    GEOEGIE    HOWABD,    OPEEATOE 

"T  71  THERE  is  the  delightful  Mr.  Good  Indian  off 
T  Y  to  ?  "  Evadna  stopped  drumming  upon  the 
gatepost  and  turned  toward  the  person  she  heard  com- 
ing up  behind  her,  who  happened  to  be  Gene.  He 
stopped  to  light  a  match  upon  the  gate  and  put  his 
cigarette  to  work  before  he  answered  her;  and  Evadna 
touched  tentatively  the  wide,  blue  ribbon  wound  round 
her  arm  and  tied  in  a  bow  at  her  elbow,  and  eyed  him 
guardedly. 

"  Straight  up,  he  told  me,"  Gene  answered  sourly. 
"  He  's  sore  over  something  that  happened  last  night, 
and  he  did  n't  seem  to  have  any  talk  to  give  away  this 
morning.  He  can  go  to  the  dickens,  for  all  I  care." 

"  What  —  happened  last  night  ?  "  Evadna  wore  her 
Christmas-angel  expression ;  and  her  tone  was  the  sweet, 
insipid  tone  of  childlike  innocence. 

Gene  hesitated.  It  seemed  a  sheer  waste  of  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  her  the  truth  when  she  would  believe  a 
falsehood  just  as  readily ;  but,  since  the  truth  happened 
to  be  quite  as  improbable  as  a  lie,  he  decided  to  speak  it. 


82  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  There  was  a  noise  when  the  moon  had  just  come 
up  —  did  n't  you  hear  it  ?  The  ghost  I  told  you  about. 
Good  Injun  went  after  it  with  a  gun,  and  I  guess  they 
mixed,  all  right,  and  he  got  the  worst  of  it.  He  was 
sure  on  the  fight  when  he  came  back,  and  he  's  pulled 
out  this  morning — " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  —  did  you  see  it,  really  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  ask  Clark,  when  you  see  him,"  Gene 
hinted  darkly.  "  You  just  ask  him  what  was  in  the 
grove  last  night.  Ask  him  what  he  heard."  He  moved 
closer,  and  laid  his  hand  impressively  upon  her  arm. 
Evadna  winced  perceptibly.  "  What  yuh  jumping  for  ? 
You  did  n't  see  anything,  did  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  —  was  there  really  something  ?  "  Evadna 
freed  herself  as  unobtrusively  as  possible,  and  looked 
at  him  with  wide  eyes. 

"  You  ask  Clark.  He  '11  tell  you  —  maybe.  Good 
Injun  's  scared  clean  off  the  ranch  —  you  can  see  that 
for  yourself.  He  said  he  could  n't  be  hired  to  spend 
another  night  here.  He  thinks  it 's  a  bad  sign.  That 's 
the  Injun  of  it.  They  believe  in  spirits  and  signs  and 
things." 

Evadna  turned  thoughtful.  "  And  did  n't  he  tell 
you  what  he  —  that  is,  if  he  found  out  —  you  said  he 
went  after  it — " 

"  He  would  n't  say  a  blamed  thing  about  it,"  Gene 


MISS    GEORGIE   HOWARD      83 

complained  sincerely.  "  He  said  there  was  n't  anything 
—  he  told  us  it  was  a  screech-owl." 

"  Oh!  "  Evadna  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Well,  I  'm 
going  to  ask  Clark  what  it  was  —  I  'm  just  crazy  about 
ghost  stories,  only  I  never  would  dare  leave  the  house 
after  dark  if  there  are  funny  noises  and  things,  really. 
I  think  you  boys  must  be  the  bravest  fellows,  to  sleep 
out  there  —  without  even  your  mother  with  you !  " 

She  smiled  the  credulous  smile  of  ignorant  inno- 
cence and  pulled  the  gate  open. 

"  Jack  promised  to  take  me  up  to  Hartley  to-day," 
she  explained  over  her  shoulder.  "  When  I  come  back, 
you  '11  show  me  just  where  it  was,  won't  you,  Gene  ? 
You  don't  suppose  it  would  walk  in  the  grove  in  the 
daytime,  do  you  \  Because  I  'm  awfully  fond  of  the 
grove,  and  I  do  hope  it  will  be  polite  enough  to  confine 
its  perambulations  entirely  to  the  conventional  mid- 
night hour." 

Gene  did  not  make  any  reply.  Indeed,  he  seemed 
wholly  absorbed  in  staring  after  her  and  wondering  just 
how  much  or  how  little  of  it  she  meant. 

Evadna  looked  back,  midway  between  the  gate  and 
the  stable;  and,  when  she  saw  him  standing  exactly  as 
she  had  left  him,  she  waved  her  hand  and  smiled.  She 
was  still  smiling  when  she  came  up  to  where  Jack  was 
giving  those  last,  tentative  twitches  and  pats  which 


84  GOOD    INDIAN 

prove  whether  a  saddle  is  properly  set  and  cinched ;  and 
she  would  not  say  what  it  was  that  amused  her.  All 
the  way  up  the  grade,  she  smiled  and  grew  thoughtful 
by  turns ;  and,  when  Jack  mentioned  the  fact  that  Good 
Indian  had  gone  off  mad  about  something,  she  contented 
herself  with  the  simple,  unqualified  statement  that  she 
was  glad  of  it. 

Grant's  horse  dozed  before  the  store,  and  Grant  him- 
self sat  upon  a  bench  in  the  narrow  strip  of  shade  on 
the  porch.  Evadna,  therefore,  refused  absolutely  to 
dismount  there,  though  her  errand  had  been  a  post-office 
money  order.  Jack  was  already  on  the  ground  when  she 
made  known  her  decision;  and  she  left  him  in  the 
middle  of  his  expostulations  and  rode  on  to  the  depot. 
He  followed  disapprovingly  afoot;  and,  when  she 
brought  her  horse  to  a  stand,  he  helped  her  from  the 
saddle,  and  took  the  bridle  reins  with  an  air  of  weary 
tolerance. 

"  When  you  get  ready  to  go  home,  you  can  come 
to  the  store,"  he  said  bluntly.  "  Huckleberry  would  n't 
stand  here  if  you  hog-tied  him.  Just  remember  that  if 
you  ever  ride  up  here  alone  —  it  might  save  you  a  walk 
back.  And  say,"  he  added,  with  a  return  of  his  good- 
natured  grin,  "  it  looks  like  you  and  Good  Injun  did  n't 
get  acquainted  yesterday.  I  thought  I  saw  mum  give 
him  an  introduction  to  you  —  but  I  guess  I  made  a 


MISS    GEORGIE    HOWARD      85 

mistake.  When  you  come  to  the  store,  don't  let  me 
forget,  and  I  '11  do  it  myself." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Jack  —  but  it  is  n't  necessary," 
chirped  Evadna,  and  left  him  with  the  smile  which  he 
had  come  to  regard  with  vague  suspicion  of  what  it 
might  hide  of  her  real  feelings. 

Two  squaws  sat  cross-legged  on  the  ground  in  the 
shade  of  the  little  red  depot;  and  them  she  passed  by 
hastily,  her  eyes  upon  them  watchfully  until  she  was 
well  upon  the  platform  and  was  being  greeted  joyfully 
by  Miss  Georgie  Howard,  then  in  one  of  her  daily 
periods  of  intense  boredom. 

"  My,  my,  but  you  're  an  angel  of  deliverance  — 
and  by  rights  you  should  have  a  pair  of  gauze  wings, 
just  to  complete  the  picture,"  she  cried,  leading  her 
inside  and  pushing  her  into  a  beribboned  wicker  rocker. 
"I  was  just  getting  desperate  enough  to  haul  in  those 
squaws  out  there  and  see  if  I  could  n't  teach  'em  whist 
or  something."  She  sat  down  and  fingered  her  pompa- 
dour absently.  "  And  that  sure  would  have  been  inter- 
esting," she  added  musingly. 

"  Don't  let  me  interrupt  you,"  Evadna  began  primly. 
"  I  only  came  for  a  money  order  —  Aunt  Phoebe 's  send- 
ing for — " 

"  Never  mind  what  you  came  for,"  Miss  Georgie 
cut  in  decisively,  and  laughed.  "  The  express  agent 


86  GOOD    INDIAN 

is  out.  You  can't  get  your  order  till  we  've  had  a  good 
talk  and  got  each  other  tagged  mentally  —  only  I  've 
tagged  you  long  ago." 

"  I  thought  you  were  the  express  agent.  Aunt 
Phoebe  said  — " 

"  Nice,  truthful  Aunt  Phrebe !  I  am,  but  I'm  out  — 
officially.  I  'm  several  things,  my  dear ;  but,  for  the 
sake  of  my  own  dignity  and  self-respect,  I  refuse  to 
be  more  than  one  of  them  at  a  time.  When  I  sell  a 
ticket  to  Shoshone,  I  'm  the  ticket  agent,  and  nothing 
else.  Telegrams,  I  'm  the  operator.  At  certain  times 
I  'm  the  express  agent.  I  admit  it.  But  this  is  n't  one 
of  the  times." 

She  stopped  and  regarded  her  visitor  with  whimsical 

fl^ 

appraisement.  '  You  '11  wait  till  t^e  agent  returns, 
won't  you  ?  "  And  added,  with  a  grimace :  "  You  won't 
be  in  the  way  —  I  'm  not  anything  official  right  now. 
I  'm  a  neighbor,  and  this  is  my  parlor  —  you  see,  I 
planted  you  on  that  rug,  with  the  books  at  your  elbow, 
and  that  geranium  also ;  and  you  're  in  the  rocker,  so 
you  're  really  and  truly  in  my  parlor.  I  'm  over  the  line 
myself,  and  you're  calling  on  me.  Sabe?  That  little 
desk  by  the  safe  is  the  express  office,  and  you  can  see  for 
yourself  that  the  agent  is  out." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  "  Evadna  permitted  herself 
that  much  emotional  relief.  Then  she  leaned  her  head 


MISS    GEORGIE    HOWARD      87 

against  the  cherry-colored  head-rest  tied  to  the  chair 
with  huge,  cherry-colored  bows,  and  took  a  deliberate 
survey  of  the  room. 

It  was  a  small  room,  as  rooms  go.  One  corner  was 
evidently  the  telegraph  office,  for  it  held  a  crude  table, 
with  the  instruments  clicking  spasmodically,  form  pads, 
letter  files,  and  mysterious  things  which  piqued  her 
curiosity.  Over  it  was  a  railroad  map  and  a  make- 
shift bulletin  board,  which  seemed  to  give  the  time  of 
certain  trains.  And  small-paned  windows  gave  one 
sitting  before  the  instruments  an  unobstructed  view  up 
and  down  the  track.  In  the  corner  behind  the  door 
was  a  small  safe,  with  door  ajar,  and  a  desk  quite  as 
small,  with,  "Express  Office:  Hours,  8  A.M.  to  6  P.M." 
on  a  card  above  it. 

Under  a  small  window  opening  upon  the  platform 
was  another  little  table,  with  indications  of  occasional 
ticket-selling  upon  it.  And  in  the  end  of  the  room 
where  she  sat  were  various  little  adornments  —  "  art  " 
calendars,  a  few  books,  fewer  potted  plants,  a  sewing- 
basket,  and  two  rugs  upon  the  floor,  with  a  rocker  for 
each.  Also  there  was  a  tiny,  square  table,  with  a  pack 
of  cards  scattered  over  it. 

"  Exactly.  You  have  it  sized  up  correctly,  my  dear." 
Miss  Georgie  Howard  nodded  her  head  three  times,  and 
her  eyes  were  mirthful.  "  It  'a  a  game.  I  made  it  a 


88  GOOD    INDIAN 

game.  I  had  to,  in  self-defense.  Otherwise  — "  She 
waved  a  hand  conspicuous  for  its  white  plumpness  and 
its  fingers  tapering  beautifully  to  little,  pink  nails  im- 
maculately kept.  "  Look  at  the  job  and  the  place  just 
as  it  stands,  without  anything  in  the  way  of  mitigation. 
Can  you  see  yourself  holding  it  down  for  longer  than 
a  week  ?  I  've  been  here  a  month." 

"  I  think,"  Evadna  ventured,  "  it  must  be  fun." 
"  Oh,  yes.  It 's  fun  —  if  you  make  fun  of  it.  How- 
ever, before  we  settle  down  for  a  real  visit,  I  've  a  cer- 
tain duty  to  perform,  if  you  will  excuse  my  absence  for 
a  moment.  Incidentally,"  she  added,  getting  lazily  out 
of  the  chair,  "  it  will  illustrate  just  how  I  manage  my 
system." 

Her  absence  was  purely  theoretical.  She  stepped  off 
the  rug,  went  to  the  "express  office,"  and  took  a  card 
from  the  desk.  When  she  had  stood  it  upright  behind 
the  inkwell,  Evadna  read  in  large,  irregular  capitals: 

"OUT.     WILL  BE  BACK  LATEK." 

Miss  Georgie  Howard  paid  no  attention  to  the  little 
giggle  which  went  with  the  reading,  but  stepped  across 
to  the  ticket  desk  and  to  the  telegraph  table,  and  put 
similar  cards  on  display.  Then  she  came  back  to  the 
rug,  plumped  down  in  her  rocker  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 


MISS    GEORGIE    HOWARD      89 

and  reached  for  a  large,  white  box  —  the  five  pounds 
of  chocolates  which  she  had  sent  for. 

"  I  never  eat  candy  when  I  'm  in  the  office,"  she 
observed  soberly.  "  I  consider  it  unprofessional.  Help 
yourself  as  liberally  as  your  digestion  will  stand  — 
and  for  Heaven's  sake,  gossip  a  little!  Tell  me  all 
about  that  bunch  of  nifty  lads  I  see  cavorting  around 
the  store  occasionally  —  and  especially  about  the  poly- 
syllabic gentleman  who  seems  to  hang  out  at  the  Peace- 
ful Hart  ranch.  I  'm  terribly  taken  with  him.  He  — 
excuse  me,  chicken.  There  's  a  fellow  down  the  line 
hollering  his  head  off.  Wait  till  I  see  what  he  wants." 

Again  she  left  the  rug,  stepped  to  the  telegraph  in- 
strument, and  fingered  the  key  daintily  until  she  had, 
with  the  other  hand,  turned  down  the  "  out "  card. 
Then  she  threw  the  switch,  rattled  an  impatient  reply, 
and  waited,  listening  to  the  rapid  clicking  of  the 
sounder.  Her  eyes  and  her  mouth  hardened  as  she  read. 

"  Cad !  "  she  gritted  under  her  breath.  Her  fingers 
were  spiteful  as  they  clicked  the  key  in  answer.  She 
slammed  the  current  off,  set  up  the  "  out "  notice  again, 
kicked  the  desk  chair  against  the  wall,  and  came  back  to 
the  "  parlor  "  breathing  quickly. 

"  I  think  it  must  be  perfectly  fascinating  to  talk  that 
way  to  persons  miles  off,"  said  Evadna,  eying  the  chit- 
tering  sounder  with  something  approaching  awe.  "  I 


90  GOOD    INDIAN 

watched  your  fingers,  and  tried  to  imagine  what  it  was 
they  were  saying  —  but  I  could  n't  even  guess." 

Miss  Georgie  Howard  laughed  queerly.  "  No,  I 
don't  suppose  you  could,"  she  murmured,  and  added, 
with  a  swift  glance  at  the  other :  "  They  said,  '  You  go 
to  the  devil.'  "  She  held  up  the  offending  hand  and 
regarded  it  intently.  "  You  would  n't  think  it  of  them, 
would  you  ?  But  they  have  to  say  things  sometimes  — 
in  self-defense.  There  are  two  or  three  fresh  young 
men  along  the  line  that  can't  seem  to  take  a  hint  unless 
you  knock  them  in  the  head  with  it." 

She  cast  a  malevolent  look  at  the  clicking  instrument. 
"  He  's  trying  to  square  himself,"  she  observed  care- 
lessly. "  But,  unfortunately,  I  'm  out.  He  seems  on 
the  verge  of  tears,  poor  thing." 

She  poked  investigatingly  among  the  chocolates,  and 
finally  selected  a  delectable  morsel  with  epicurean 
care. 

"  You  have  n't  told  me  about  the  polysyllabic  young 
man,"  she  reminded.  "  He  has  held  my  heart  in  bondage 
since  he  said  to  Pete  Hamilton  yesterday  in  the  store  — 
ah — "  She  leaned  and  barely  reached  a  slip  of  paper 
which  was  lying  upon  a  row  of  books.  "  I  wrote  it 
down  so  I  would  n't  forget  it,"  she  explained  paren- 
thetically. "  He  said  to  Pete,  in  the  store,  just  after 
Pete  had  tried  to  say  something  funny  with  the  usual 


MISS    GEORGIE    HOWARD      91 

lamentable  failure  —  um  —  '  You  are  mentally  in- 
capable of  recognizing  the  line  of  demarcation  between 
legitimate  persiflage  and  objectionable  familiarity.' 
Now,  I  want  to  know  what  sort  of  a  man,  under  fifty 
and  not  a  college  professor,  would  —  or  could  —  say 
that  without  studying  it  first.  It  sounded  awfully  im- 
promptu and  easy  —  and  yet  he  looks  —  well,  cow- 
boyish.  What  sort  of  a  young  man  is  he  ? " 

"  He  's  a  perfectly  horrid  young  man."  Evadna 
leaned  to  help  herself  to  more  chocolates.  "  He  —  well, 
just  to  show  you  how  horrid,  he  calls  me  a  —  a  Christ- 
mas angel !  And  — " 

"  Did  he !  "  Miss  Georgie  eyed  her  measuringly  be- 
tween bites.  "  Tag  him  as  being  intelligent,  a  keen 
observer,  with  the  ability  to  express  himself — "  She 
broke  off,  and  turned  her  head  ungraciously  toward  the 
sounder,  which  seemed  to  be  repeating  something  over 
and  over  with  a  good  deal  of  insistence.  "  That's 
Shoshone  calling,"  she  said,  frowning  attentively. 
"  They  've  got  an  old  crank  up  there  in  the  office  — 
I  'd  know  his  touch  among  a  million  —  and  when  he 
calls  he  means  business.  I  '11  have  to  speak  up,  I  sup- 
pose." She  sighed,  tucked  a  chocolate  into  her  cheek, 
and  went  scowling  to  the  table.  "  Can't  the  idiot  see 
I  'm  out  ?  "  she  complained  whimsically.  "  What 's  that 
card  for,  I  wonder?" 


92  GOOD    INDIAN 

She  threw  the  switch,  rattled  a  reply,  and  then,  as  the 
sounder  settled  down  to  a  steady  click-clickety-click- 
click,  she  drew  a  pad  toward  her,  pulled  up  the  chair 
with  her  foot,  sat  down,  and  began  to  write  the  message 
as  it  came  chattering  over  the  wire.  When  it  was  fin- 
ished and  the  sounder  quiet,  her  hand  awoke  to  life 
upon  the  key.  She  seemed  to  be  repeating  the  message, 
word  for  word.  When  she  was  done,  she  listened,  got 
her  answer,  threw  off  the  switch  with  a  sweep  of  her 
thumb,  and  fumbled  among  the  papers  on  the  table  until 
she  found  an  envelope.  She  addressed  it  with  a  hasty 
scrawl  of  her  pencil,  sealed  it  with  a  vicious  little  spat 
of  her  hand,  and  then  sat  looking  down  upon  it  thought- 
fully. 

"  I  suppose  I  Ve  got  to  deliver  that  immediately,  at 
once,  without  delay,"  she  said.  "  There  's  supposed  to 
be  an  answer.  Chicken,  some  queer  things  happen  in 
this  business.  Here  's  that  weak-eyed,  hollow-chested 
Saunders,  that  seems  to  have  just  life  enough  to  put  in 
about  ten  hours  a  day  reading  '  The  Duchess,'  getting 
cipher  messages  like  the  hero  of  a  detective  story.  And 
sending  them,  too,  by  the  way.  We  operators  are  not 
supposed  to  think;  but  all  the  same — "  She  got  her 
receipt-book,  filled  rapidly  a  blank  line,  tucked  it  under 
her  arm,  and  went  up  and  tapped  Evadna  lightly  upon 
the  head  with  the  envelope.  "  Want  to  come  along  ? 


MISS    GEORGIE    HOWARD      93 

Or  would  you  rather  stay  here?  I  won't  be  more  than 
two  minutes." 

She  was  gone  five;  and  she  returned  with  a  pre- 
occupied air  which  lasted  until  she  had  disposed  of 
three  chocolates  and  was  carefully  choosing  a  fourth. 

"  Chicken,"  she  said  then,  quietly,  "  do  you  know  any- 
thing about  your  uncle  and  his  affairs  ?  "  And  added 
immediately :  "  The  chances  are  ten  to  one  you  don't, 
and  would  n't  if  you  lived  there  till  you  were  gray  ?  " 

"  I  know  he 's  perfectly  lovely,"  Evadna  asserted 
warmly.  "  And  so  is  Aunt  Phoebe." 

"  To  be  sure."  Miss  Georgie  smiled  indulgently. 
"  I  quite  agree  with  you.  And  by  the  way,  I  met  that 
polysyllabic  cowboy  again  —  and  I  discovered  that,  on 
the  whole,  my  estimate  was  incorrect.  He 's  emphati- 
cally monosyllabic.  I  said  sixteen  nice  things  to  him 
while  I  was  waiting  for  Pete  to  wake  up  Saunders ;  and 
he  answered  in  words  of  one  syllable;  one  word,  of 
one  syllable.  I  'm  beginning  to  feel  that  I  've  simply 
got  to  know  that  young  man.  There  are  deeps  there 
which  I  am  wild  to  explore.  I  never  met  any  male 
human  in  the  least  like  him.  Did  you  ?  So  absolutely 
—  ah  —  inscrutable,  let  us  say." 

"  That 's  just  because  he  's  part  Indian,"  Evadna 
declared,  with  the  positiveness  of  youth  and  inexperi- 
ence. "  It  is  n't  inscrutability,  but  stupidity.  I  simply 


94  GOOD    INDIAN 

can't  bear  him.  He  's  brutal,  and  rude.  He  told  me  — 
told  me,  mind  you  —  that  he  does  n't  like  women.  He 
actually  warned  me  against  thinking  his  politeness  — 
if  he  ever  is  polite,  which  I  doubt  —  means  more  than 
just  common  humanity.  He  said  he  did  n't  want  me 
to  misunderstand  him  and  think  he  liked  me,  because  he 
does  n't.  He 's  a  perfect  savage.  I  simply  loathe 
him!" 

"  I  'd  certainly  see  that  he  repented,  apologized,  and 
vowed  eternal  devotion,"  smiled  Miss  Georgie.  "  That 
should  be  my  revenge." 

"  I  don't  want  any  revenge.  I  simply  want  nothing 
to  do  with  him.  I  don't  want  to  speak  to  him,  even." 

"  He  's  awfully  good-looking,"  mused  Miss  Georgie. 

"  He  looks  to  me  just  like  an  Indian.  He  ought  to 
wear  a  blanket,  like  the  rest." 

"  Then  you  're  no  judge.  His  eyes  are  dark ;  but 
they  are  n't  snaky,  my  dear.  His  hair  is  real  wavy, 
did  you  notice  ?  And  he  has  the  dearest,  firm  mouth. 
I  noticed  it  particularly,  because  I  admire  a  man  who  is 
a  man.  He  's  one.  He  'd  fight  and  never  give  up,  once 
he  started.  And  I  think  "  —  she  spoke  hesitatingly  — 
"  I  think  he  'd  love  —  and  never  give  up ;  unless  the 
loved  one  disappointed  him  in  some  way ;  and  then  he  'd 
be  strong  enough  to  go  his  way  and  not  whine  about  it. 
I  do  hate  a  whiner !  Don't  you  ?  " 


MISS    GEORGIE    HOWARD      95 

A  shadow  fell  upon  the  platform  outside  the  door, 
and  Saunders  appeared,  sidling  deprecatingly  into  the 
room.  He  pulled  off  his  black,  slouched  hat  and  tucked 
it  under  his  arm,  smoothed  his  lank,  black  hair,  ran 
his  palm  down  over  his  lank,  unshaven  face  with  a 
smoothing  gesture,  and  sidled  over  to  the  telegraph 
table. 

"Here's  the  answer  to  that  message,"  he  said,  in  a 
limp  tone,  without  any  especial  emphasis  or  inflection. 
"  If  you  ain't  too  busy,  and  could  send  it  right  off  — 
it 's  to  go  C.  O.  D.  And  make  'em  repeat  it,  so  as  to  be 
sure  — " 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Saunders."  Miss  Georgie  rose,  the 
crisp,  businesslike  operator,  and  went  to  the  table.  She 
took  the  sheet  of  paper  from  him  with  her  finger  tips,  as 
if  he  were  some  repulsive  creature  whose  touch  would 
send  her  shuddering,  and  glanced  at  the  message. 
"Write  it  on  the  regular  form,"  she  said,  and  pushed 
a  pad  and  pencil  toward  him.  "  I  have  to  place  it  on 
file."  Whereupon  she  turned  her  back  upon  him,  and 
stood  staring  down  the  railroad  track  through  the  smoke- 
grimed  window  until  a  movement  warned  her  that  he 
was  through. 

"  Very  well  —  that  is  all,"  she  said,  after  she  had 
counted  the  words  twice.  "  Oh  —  you  want  to  wait  for 
the  repeat." 


96  GOOD    INDIAN 

She  laid  her  fingers  on  the  key  and  sent  the  message 
in  a  whirl  of  chittering  little  sounds,  waited  a  moment 
while  the  sounder  spoke,  paused,  and  then  began  a  rapid 
clicking,  which  was  the  repeated  message,  and  wrote  it 
down  upon  its  form. 

"  There  —  if  it 's  correct,  that 's  all,"  she  told 
him  in  a  tone  of  dismissal,  and  waited  openly  for  him 
to  go.  Which  he  did,  after  a  sly  glance  at  Evadna,  a 
licking  of  pale  lips,  as  if  he  would  speak  but  lacked 
the  courage,  and  a  leering  grin  at  Miss  Georgie. 

He  was  no  sooner  over  the  threshold  than  she  slammed 
the  door  shut,  in  spite  of  the  heat.  She  walked  to  the 
window,  glanced  down  the  track  again,  turned  to  the 
table,  and  restlessly  arranged  the  form  pads,  sticking 
the  message  upon  the  file.  She  said  something  under 
her  breath,  snapped  the  cover  on  the  inkwell,  sighed, 
patted  her  pompadour,  and  finally  laughed  at  her  own 
uneasiness. 

"  Whenever  that  man  comes  in  here,"  she  observed 
impatiently,  "  I  always  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  clean  house 
after  him.  If  ever  there  was  a  human  toad  —  or 
snake,  or  —  ugh!  And  what  does  he  mean  sending 
twenty-word  messages  that  don't  make  sense  when  you 
read  them  over,  and  getting  others  that  are  just  a  lot 
of  words  jumbled  together,  hit  or  miss  ?  I  wish  —  only 
it  *s  unprofessional  to  talk  about  it  —  but,  just  the 


MISS    GEORGIE    HOWARD      97 

same,  there  's  some  nasty  business  brewing,  and  I  know 
it.  I  feel  guilty,  almost,  every  time  I  send  one  of  those 
cipher  messages." 

"  Maybe  he  's  a  detective,"  Evadna  hazarded. 

"  Maybe."  Miss  Georgie's  tone,  however,  was  ex- 
tremely skeptical.  "  Only,  so  far  as  I  can  discover, 
there 's  never  been  anything  around  here  to  detect. 
Nobody  has  been  murdered,  or  robbed,  or  kidnapped 
that  I  ever  heard  of.  Pete  Hamilton  says  not.  And  — 
I  wonder,  now,  if  Saunders  could  be  watching  some- 
body !  Would  n't  it  be  funny,  if  old  Pete  himself 
turned  out  to  be  a  Jesse  James  brand  of  criminal  ?  Can 
you  imagine  Pete  doing  anything  more  brutal  than  lick 
a  postage  stamp  ?  " 

"  He  might  want  to,"  Evadna  guessed  shrewdly, 
"but  it  would  be  too  much  trouble." 

"Besides,"  Miss  Georgie  went  on  speculating, 
"  Saunders  never  does  anything  that  anyone  ever  heard 
of.  Sweeps  out  the  store,  they  say  —  but  I  'd  hate  to 
swear  to  that.  /  never  could  catch  it  when  it  looked 
swept  —  and  brings  the  mail  sack  over  here  twice  a  day, 
and  gets  one  to  take  back.  And  reads  novels.  Of 
course,  the  man 's  half  dead  with  consumption ;  but  no 
one  would  object  to  that,  if  these  queer  wires  had  n't 
commenced  coming  to  him." 

"  Why  don't  you  turn  detective  yourself  and  find 


98  GOOD    INDIAN 

out  ?  "  Plainly,  Evadna  was  secretly  laughing  at  her 
perturbed  interest  in  the  matter. 

"  Thanks.  I  'm  too  many  things  already,  and  I 
haven't  any  false  hair  or  dark  lantern.  And,  by  the 
way,  I  'm  going  to  have  the  day  off,  Sunday.  Charlie 
Green  is  coming  up  to  relieve  me.  And  —  could  n't  we 
do  something  ?  "  She  glanced  wearily  around  the  little 
office.  "  Honest,  I  'd  go  crazy  if  I  stayed  here  much 
longer  without  a  play  spell.  I  want  to  get  clear  out, 
away  from  the  thing  —  where  I  can't  even  hear  a  train 
whistle." 

"  Then  you  shall  come  down  to  the  ranch  the  minute 
you  can  get  away,  and  we  '11  do  something  or  go  some- 
where. The  boys  said  they  'd  take  me  fishing  —  but 
they  only  propose  things  so  they  can  play  jokes  on  me,  it 
seems  to  me.  They'd  make  me  fall  in  the  river,  or 
something,  I  just  know.  But  if  you  'd  like  to  go  along, 
there  'd  be  two  of  us  — " 

"  Chicken,  we  '11  go.  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  fish 
for  an  invitation  the  way  I  did,  but  I  'm  not.  I  have  n't 
been  down  to  the  Hart  ranch  yet ;  and  I  've  heard  enough 
about  it  to  drive  me  crazy  with  the  desire  to  see  it. 
Your  Aunt  Phoebe  I  've  met,  and  fallen  in  love  with  — 
that 's  a  matter  of  course.  She  told  me  to  visit  her  just 
any  time,  without  waiting  to  be  invited  especially. 
Is  n't  she  the  dearest  thing  ?  Oh,  that 's  a  train  order, 


MISS    GEORGIE    HOWARD      99 

I  suppose  —  sixteen  is  about  due.  Excuse  me, 
chicken." 

She  was  busy  then  until  the  train  came  screeching 
down  upon  the  station,  paused  there  while  the  conductor 
rushed  in,  got  a  thin  slip  of  paper  for  himself  and  the 
engineer,  and  rushed  out  again.  When  the  train  grum- 
bled away  from  the  platform  and  went  its  way,  it  left 
a  man  standing  there,  a  fish-basket  slung  from  one 
shoulder,  a  trout  rod  carefully  wrapped  in  its  case  in 
his  hand,  a  box  which  looked  suspiciously  like  a  case 
of  some  bottled  joy  at  his  feet,  and  a  loose-lipped  smile 
upon  his  face. 

"  Howdy,  Miss  Georgie  ? "  he  called  unctuously 
through  the  open  door. 

Miss  Georgie  barely  glanced  at  him  from  under  her 
lashes,  and  her  shoulders  indulged  themselves  in  an  al- 
most imperceptible  twitch. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Baumberger  ?  "  she  responded 
coolly,  and  very,  very  gently  pushed  the  door  shut  just 
as  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  enter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  AMIABLE  ANGLER 

BAUMBERGER —  Johannes  was  the  name  he 
answered  to  when  any  of  his  family  called,  though 
to  the  rest  of  the  world  he  was  simply  Baumberger  — 
was  what  he  himself  called  a  true  sport.  Women,  he 
maintained,  were  very  much  like  trout;  and  so,  when 
this  particular  woman  calmly  turned  her  back  upon  the 
smile  cast  at  her,  he  did  not  linger  there  angling  use- 
lessly, but  betook  himself  to  the  store,  where  his  worldly 
position,  rather  than  his  charming  personality,  might  be 
counted  upon  to  bring  him  his  meed  of  appreciation. 

Good  Indian  and  Jack,  sitting  side  by  side  upon  the 
porch  and  saying  very  little,  he  passed  by  with  a  care- 
less nod,  as  being  not  worth  his  attention.  Saunders, 
glancing  up  from  the  absorbing  last  chapter  of  "  The 
Brokenhearted  Bride,"  also  received  a  nod,  and  re- 
turned it  apathetically.  Pete  Hamilton,  however,  got 
a  flabby  handshake,  a  wheezy  laugh,  and  the  announce- 
ment that  he  was  down  from  Shoshone  for  a  good,  gamy 
tussle  with  that  four-pounder  he  had  lost  last  time. 

"  And  I  don't  go  back  till  I  get  him  —  not  if  I 


THE   AMIABLE   ANGLER   101 

stay  here  a  week,"  he  declared,  with  jocular  savagery. 
"  Took  half  my  leader  and  my  pet  fly  —  I  got  him  with 
a  peacock-bodied  gray  hackle  that  I  revised  to  suit  my 
own  notions  —  and,  by  the  great  immortal  Jehosaphat, 
he  looked  like  a  whale  when  he  jumped  up  clear  of  the 
riffle,  turned  over,  and  — "  His  flabby,  white  hand 
made  a  soaring  movement  to  indicate  the  manner  in 
which  the  four-pounder  had  vanished. 

"  Better  take  a  day  off  and  go  with  me,  Pete,"  he 
suggested,  getting  an  unwieldy-looking  pipe  from  the 
pocket  of  his  canvas  fishing-coat,  and  opening  his  eyes 
at  a  trout-fly  snagged  in  the  mouthpiece.  "  Now,  how 
did  that  fly  come  there  ?  "  he  asked  aggrievedly,  while  he 
released  it  daintily  for  all  his  fingers  looked  so  fat 
and  awkward.  He  stuck  the  pipe  in  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  and  held  up  the  fly  with  that  interest  which 
seems  fatuous  to  one  who  has  no  sporting  blood  in  his 
veins. 

"  Last  time  I  used  that  fly  was  when  I  was  down  here 
three  weeks  ago  —  the  day  I  lost  the  big  one.  Ain't 
it  a  beauty,  eh?  Tied  it  myself.  And,  by  the  great 
immortal  Jehosaphat,  it  fetches  me  the  rainbows,  too. 
Good  mind  to  try  it  on  the  big  one.  Don't  see  how  I 
did  n't  miss  it  out  of  my  book  —  I  must  be  getting 
absent-minded.  Sign  of  old  age,  that.  Failing  powers 
and  the  like."  He  shook  his  head  reprovingly  and 


102  GOOD    INDIAN 

grinned,  as  if  he  considered  the  idea  something  of  a 
joke.  "  Have  to  buck  up  —  a  lawyer  can't  afford  to 
grow  absent-minded.  He 's  liable  to  wake  up  some 
day  and  find  himself  without  his  practice." 

He  got  his  fly-book  from  the  basket  swinging  at  his 
left  hip,  opened  it,  turned  the  leaves  with  the  caressing 
touch  one  gives  to  a  cherished  thing,  and  very  carefully 
placed  the  fly  upon  the  page  where  it  belonged;  gazed 
gloatingly  down  at  the  tiny,  tufted  hooks,  with  their 
frail-looking  five  inches  of  gut  leader,  and  then  re- 
turned the  book  fondly  to  the  basket. 

"  Think  I  '11  go  on  down  to  the  Harts',"  he  said, 
"  so  as  to  be  that  much  closer  to  the  stream.  Daylight 
is  going  to  find  me  whipping  the  rimes,  Peter.  You 
won't  come  along  ?  You  better.  Plenty  of  —  ah  — 
snake  medicine,"  he  hinted,  chuckling  so  that  the  whole, 
deep  chest  of  him  vibrated.  "  No  ?  Well,  you  can  let 
me  have  a  horse,  I  suppose  —  that  cow-backed  sorrel 
will  do  —  he  's  gentle,  I  know.  I  think  I  '11  go  out  and 
beg  an  invitation  from  that  Hart  boy  —  never  can  re- 
member those  kids  by  name  —  Gene,  is  it,  or  Jack  ?  " 

He  went  out  upon  the  porch,  laid  a  hand  upon  Jack's 
shoulder,  and  beamed  down  upon  him  with  what  would 
have  passed  easily  for  real  affection  while  he  announced 
that  he  was  going  to  beg  supper  and  a  bed  at  the  ranch, 
and  wanted  to  know,  as  a  solicitous  after-thought,  if 


THE   AMIABLE   ANGLER    103 

Jack's  mother  had  company,  or  anything  that  would 
make  his  presence  a  burden. 

"  Nobody  's  there  —  and,  if  there  was,  it  would  n't 
matter,"  Jack  assured  him  carelessly.  "  Go  on  down, 
if  you  want  to.  It  '11  be  all  right  with  mother." 

"  One  thing  I  like  about  fishing  down  here,"  chuckled 
Baumberger,  his  fat  fingers  still  resting  lightly  upon 
Jack's  shoulder,  "  is  the  pleasure  of  eating  my  fish  at 
your  house.  There  ain't  another  man,  woman,  or  child 
in  all  Idaho  can  fry  trout  like  your  mother.  You 
need  n't  tell  her  I  said  so  —  but  it 's  a  fact,  just  the 
same.  She  sure  is  a  genius  with  the  frying-pan,  my 
boy." 

He  turned  and  called  in  to  Pete,  to  know  if  he  might 
have  the  sorrel  saddled  right  away.  Since  Pete  looked 
upon  Baumberger  with  something  of  the  awed  admira- 
tion which  he  would  bestow  upon  the  President,  he  felt 
convinced  that  his  horses  were  to  be  congratulated  that 
any  one  of  them  found  favor  in  his  eyes. 

Pete,  therefore,  came  as  near  to  roaring  at  Saunders 
as  his  good  nature  and  his  laziness  would  permit,  and 
waited  in  the  doorway  until  Saunders  had,  with  visible 
reluctance,  laid  down  his  book  and  started  toward  the 
stable. 

"  Need  n't  bother  to  bring  the  horse  down  here,  my 
man,"  Baumberger  called  after  him.  "  I  '11  get  him  at 


104  GOOD    INDIAN 

the  stable  and  start  from  there.  Well,  wish  me  luck, 
Pete  —  and  say !  I  '11  expect  you  to  make  a  day  of  it 
with  me  Sunday.  No  excuses,  now.  I  'm  going  to  stay 
over  that  long,  anyhow.  Promised  myself  three  good 
days  —  maybe  more.  A  man  's  got  to  break  away  from 
his  work  once  in  a  while.  If  I  didn't,  life  wouldn't 
be  worth  living.  I  'm  willing  to  grind  —  but  I  've  got 
to  have  my  playtime,  too.  Say,  I  want  you  to  try  this 
rod  of  mine  Sunday.  You  '11  want  one  like  it  yourself, 
if  I  'm  any  good  at  guessing.  Just  got  it,  you  know  — 
it 's  the  one  I  was  talking  to  yuh  about  last  time  I  was 
down. 

"  Well  —  I  reckon  my  means  of  conveyance  is  ready 
for  me  —  so  long,  Peter,  till  Sunday.  See  you  at  sup- 
per, boys." 

He  hooked  a  thumb  under  the  shoulder-strap  of  his 
basket,  pulled  it  to  a  more  comfortable  position,  waved 
his  hand  in  a  farewell,  which  included  every  living 
thing  within  sight  of  him,  and  went  away  up  the  nar- 
row, winding  trail  through  the  sagebrush  to  the  stable, 
humming  something  under  his  breath  with  the  same  im- 
pulse of  satisfaction  with  life  which  sets  a  cat  purring. 

Some  time  later,  he  appeared,  in  the  same  jovial 
mood,  at  the  Hart  ranch,  and  found  there  the  welcome 
which  he  had  counted  upon  —  the  welcome  which  all 
men  received  there  upon  demand. 


THE   AMIABLE   ANGLER   105 

When  Evadna  and  Jack  rode  up,  they  found  Mr. 
Baumberger  taking  his  ease  in  Peaceful's  armchair  on 
the  porch,  discussing,  with  animated  gravity,  the  ins 
and  outs  of  county  politics ;  his  fishing-basket  lying  on 
its  flat  side  close  to  his  chair,  his  rod  leaning  against 
the  house  at  his  elbow,  his  heavy  pipe  dragging  down 
one  corner  of  his  loose-lipped  mouth;  his  whole  gross 
person  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  prosperity  lead- 
ing the  simple  life  transiently  and  by  choice,  and  of 
lazy  enjoyment  in  his  own  physical  and  mental  well- 
being. 


CHAPTER  IX 

PEPPAJEE  JIM  "  HEAP  SABES " 

PEPPAJEE  JIM  had  meditated  long  in  the  shade 
of  his  wikiup,  and  now,  when  the  sun  changed 
from  a  glaring  ball  of  intense,  yellow  heat  to  a  sullen 
red  disk  hanging  low  over  the  bluffs  of  Snake  River,  he 
rose,  carefully  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  little  stone 
pipe,  with  one  mechanical  movement  of  his  arms,  gath- 
ered his  blanket  around  him,  pushed  a  too-familiar  dog 
from  him  with  a  shove  of  moccasined  foot,  and  stalked 
away  through  the  sagebrush. 

On  the  brow  of  the  hill,  just  where  the  faint  foot- 
path dipped  into  a  narrow  gully  at  the  very  edge,  al- 
most, of  the  bluff,  he  stopped,  and  lifted  his  head  for 
an  unconsciously  haughty  stare  at  his  surroundings. 

Beneath  him  and  half  a  mile  or  so  up  the  river  valley, 
the  mellow  green  of  Peaceful's  orchard  was  already  tak- 
ing to  itself  the  vagueness  of  evening  shadows.  Nearer, 
the  meadow  of  alfalfa  and  clover  lay  like  a  soft,  green 
carpet  of  velvet,  lined  here  and  there  with  the  irriga- 
tion ditches  which  kept  it  so.  And  in  the  center  of  the 
meadow,  a  small  inclosure  marked  grimly  the  spot 


PEPPAJEE  "HEAP  SABES"    107 

where  lay  the  bones  of  old  John  Imsen.  All  around  the 
man-made  oasis  of  orchards  and  meadows,  the  sage  and 
the  sand,  pushed  from  the  river  by  the  jumble  of  placer 
pits,  emphasized  by  sharp  contrast  what  man  may  do 
with  the  most  unpromising  parts  of  the  earth's  surface, 
once  he  sets  himself  heart  and  muscle  to  the  task. 

With  the  deliberation  of  his  race,  Peppajee  stood  long 
minutes  motionless,  gazing  into  the  valley  before  he 
turned  with  a  true  Indian  shrug  and  went  down  into  the 
gully,  up  the  steep  slope  beyond,  and  then,  after  pick- 
ing his  way  through  a  jumble  of  great  bowlders,  came 
out  eventually  into  the  dust-ridden  trail  of  the  white 
man.  Down  that  he  walked,  erect,  swift,  purposeful,  his 
moccasins  falling  always  with  the  precision  of  a  wild 
animal  upon  the  best  footing  among  the  loose  rocks, 
stubs  of  sage-roots,  or  patches  of  deep  dust  and  sand 
beside  the  wagon-road,  his  sharp,  high-featured  face  set 
in  the  stony  calm  which  may  hide  a  tumult  of  elemental 
passions  beneath  and  give  no  sign. 

Where  the  trail  curved  out  sharply  to  round  the  Point 
o'  Rocks,  he  left  it,  and  kept  straight  on  through  the 
sage,  entered  a  rough  pass  through  the  huge  rock  tongue, 
and  came  out  presently  to  the  trail  again,  a  scant  two 
hundred  yards  from  the  Hart  haystacks.  When  he 
reached  the  stable,  he  stopped  and  looked  warily  about 
him,  but  there  was  no  sight  or  sound  of  any  there  save 


108  GOOD    INDIAN 

animals,  and  he  went  on  silently  to  the  house,  his 
shadow  stretching  long  upon  the  ground  before  him  until 
it  merged  into  the  shade  of  the  grove  beyond  the  gate, 
and  so  was  lost  for  that  day. 

"  Hello,  Peppajee,"  called  Wally  over  his  cigarette. 
"  Just  in  time  for  supper." 

Peppajee  grunted,  stopped  in  the  path  two  paces 
from  the  porch,  folded  his  arms  inside  his  blanket,  and 
stood  so  while  his  eyes  traveled  slowly  and  keenly 
around  the  group  lounging  at  ease  above  him.  Upon 
the  bulky  figure  of  Baumberger  they  dwelt  longest,  and 
while  he  looked  his  face  hardened  until  nothing  seemed 
alive  but  his  eyes. 

"  Peppajee,  this  my  friend,  Mr.  Baumberger.  You 
heap  sabe  Baumberger  —  come  all  time  from  Shoshone, 
mebbyso  catchum  heap  many  fish."  Peaceful's  mild, 
blue  eyes  twinkled  over  his  old  meerschaum.  He  knew 
the  ways  of  Indians,  and  more  particularly  he  knew 
the  ways  of  Peppajee  Jim;  Baumberger,  he  guessed 
shrewdly,  had  failed  to  find  favor  in  his  eyes. 

"  Huh !  "  grunted  Peppajee  non-committally,  and 
made  no  motion  to  shake  hands,  thereby  confirming 
Peaceful's  suspicion.  "  Me  heap  sabe  Man-that- 
catchum-fish."  After  which  he  stood  as  before,  his 
arms  folded  tightly  in  his  blanket,  his  chin  lifted 
haughtily,  his  mouth  a  straight,  stern  line  of  bronze. 


PEPPAJEE  "HEAP  SABES"    109 

"  Sit  down,  Peppajee.  Bimeby  eat  supper,"  Peace- 
ful invited  pacifically,  while  Baumberger  chuckled  at 
the  Indian's  attitude,  which  he  attributed  to  racial 
stupidity. 

Peppajee  did  not  even  indicate  that  he  heard  or,  hear- 
ing, understood. 

"  Bothered  much  with  Injuns  ?  "  Baumberger  asked 
carelessly,  putting  away  his  pipe.  "  I  see  there  's  quite 
a  camp  of  'em  up  on  the  hill.  Hope  you  've  got  good 
watchdogs  —  they  're  a  thieving  lot.  If  they  're  a  nui- 
sance, Hart,  I'll  see  what  can  be  done  about  slapping 
'em  back  on  their  reservation,  where  they  belong.  I  hap- 
pen to  have  some  influence  with  the  agent." 

"  I  guess  you  need  n't  go  to  any  trouble  about  it," 
Peaceful  returned  dryly.  "  I  've  had  worse  neighbors." 

"  Oh  —  if  you  're  stuck  on  their  company !  "  laughed 
Baumberger  wheezily.  "  '  Every  fellow  to  his  taste,  as 
the  old  woman  said  when  she  kissed  her  cow.'  There 
may  be  good  ones  among  the  lot,"  he  conceded  politely 
when  he  saw  that  his  time-worn  joke  had  met  with  dis- 
favor, even  by  the  boys,  who  could  —  and  usually  did  — 
laugh  at  almost  anything.  "  They  all  look  alike  to  me, 
I  must  admit ;  I  never  had  any  truck  with  'em." 

"  No,  I  guess  not,"  Peaceful  agreed  in  his  slow  way, 
holding  his  pipe  three  inches  from  his  face  while  he 
eyed  Peppajee  quizzically.  "  Don't  pay  to  have  any 


110  GOOD    INDIAN 

truck  with  'em  while  you  feel  that  way  about  it."  He 
smoothed  down  his  snow-white  beard  with  his  free 
hand,  pushed  the  pipestem  between  his  teeth,  and  went 
on  smoking. 

"  I  never  liked  the  breed,  any  way  you  look  at  'eni," 
Baumberger  stated  calmly. 

"  Say,  you  '11  queer  yourself  good  and  plenty,  if  you 
keep  on,"  Wally  interrupted  bluntly.  "  Peppajee's  ears 
are  n't  plugged  with  cotton  —  are  they,  Jim  ?  " 

Neither  Peppajee  nor  Baumberger  made  reply  of  any 
sort,  and  Peaceful  turned  his  mild  eyes  reproachfully 
toward  his  untactful  son.  But  the  supper  summons 
clanged  insistently  from  the  iron  triangle  on  the  back 
porch  and  saved  the  situation  from  becoming  too  awk- 
ward. Even  Baumberger  let  his  tilted  chair  down  upon 
its  four  legs  with  a  haste  for  which  his  appetite  was  not 
alone  responsible,  and  followed  the  boys  into  the  house 
as  if  he  were  glad  to  escape  from  the  steady,  uncom- 
promising stare  of  the  Indian. 

"Better  come  and  eat,  Peppajee,"  Peaceful  lingered 
upon  the  porch  to  urge  hospitably.  "  You  no  get  mad. 
You  come  eat  supper." 

"  No !  "  Peppajee  jerked  the  word  out  with  unmis- 
takable finality.  "  No  eat.  Bimeby  mebbyso  makum 
big  talk  yo'." 

Peaceful  studied  his  face,  found  it  stern  and  un- 


PEPPAJEE  "HEAP  SABES"    ill 

yielding,  and  nodded  assent.  "  All  right.  I  eat,  then 
I  talk  with  you."  He  turned  somewhat  reluctantly  and 
followed  the  others  inside,  leaving  Peppajee  to  pass  the 
time  away  as  pleased  him  best. 

Peppajee  stood  still  for  a  moment  listening  to  the 
clatter  of  dishes  from  the  kitchen,  and  then  with  dignity 
and  deliberation  seated  himself  upon  the  lowest  step  oJ 
the  porch,  and,  pulling  his  blanket  tight  around  him, 
resettled  his  disreputable  old  sombrero  upon  his  head 
and  stared  fixedly  at  the  crimson  glow  which  filled  all 
the  west  and  made  even  the  rugged  bluff  a  wonderful 
thing  of  soft,  rose  tints  and  shadows  of  royal  purple. 
Peaceful,  coming  out  half  an  hour  after  with  Baum- 
berger  at  his  heels,  found  him  so  and  made  a  movement 
to  sit  down  beside  him.  But  Peppajee  rose  and  stalked 
majestically  to  the  gate,  then  turned  and  confronted  the 
two. 

"  I  talk  yo'.  Mebbyso  no  talk  Man-with-big-belly." 
He  waited  impassively. 

"  All  right,  Jim."  Peaceful  turned  apologetically 
toward  his  guest.  "  Something  he  wants  to  tell  me, 
Baumberger ;  kinda  private,  I  guess.  I  '11  be  back  in 
a  minute,  anyway." 

"  Now,  don't  mind  me  at  all,"  Baumberger  protested 
generously.     "Go  ahead  just  as  if  I  was  n't  here  — 
that 's  what  '11  please  me  best.    I  hope  I  ain't  so  much 


GOOD    INDIAN 

of  a  stranger  you  've  got  to  stand  on  ceremony.  Go  on, 
and  find  out  what  the  old  buck  wants ;  he  's  got  some- 
thing on  his  mind,  that 's  sure.  Been  stealing  fruit, 
maybe,  and  wants  to  square  himself  before  you  catch 
him  at  it."  He  laughed  his  laziest,  and  began  leisurely 
to  fill  his  pipe. 

Peppajee  led  the  way  to  the  stable,  where  he  stopped 
short  and  faced  Peaceful,  his  arms  folded,  one  foot 
thrust  forward  in  the  pose  he  affected  when  about  to 
speak  of  matters  important. 

"  Long  time  ago,  when  yo'  hair  black,"  he  began 
deliberately,  with  a  sonorous  lingering  upon  his  vowels, 
"  yo'  all  time  my  frien'.  I  yo'  frien'  all  same.  Yo' 
no  likum  otha  white  man.  Yo'  all  time  bueno.  Yo' 
house  all  same  my  wikiup.  Me  come  eat  at  yo' 
house,  talk  yo'  all  same  brotha.  Yo'  boys  all  same 
my  boys  —  all  time  my  frien'.  Me  speakum  all  time 
no  lie,  mebbyso." 

"  No,"  Peaceful  assented  unhesitatingly,  "  you  no 
tell  lies,  Peppajee.  We  good  friends,  many  years." 

"  Huh !  Man-that-catchum-fish,  him  no  yo'  frien'. 
Shont-isham.  All  time  him  speakum  lies  —  tellum 
frien'  yo',  no  frien'.  Yo'  no  more  tellum  stop  yo' 
wikiup.  Kay  bueno.  Yo'  thinkum  frien'.  All  time 
him  have  bad  heart  for  yo'.  Yo'  got  ranch.  Got  plenty 
hay,  plenty  apple,  plenty  all  thing  for  eat.  All  time 


PEPPAJEE  "HEAP  SABES"    113 

him  think  bad  for  yo'.  All  time  him  likum  steal  yo' 
ranch." 

Peaceful  laughed  indulgently.  "  You  no  sabe''  he 
explained.  "  Him  like  my  ranch.  Him  say,  long  time 
ago,  pay  much  money  for  my  ranch.  Me  no  sell  —  me 
like  for  keep  all  time.  Baumberger  good  man.  Him 
no  steal  my  ranch.  Me  got  one  paper  from  government 
—  you  sabe  ?  —  one  paper  say  ranch  all  time  b'longum 
me  all  same.  Big  white  chief  say  ranch  b'longum  me 
all  time.  I  die,  ranch  b'longum  my  boys.  You  sabe  ?  " 

Peppajee  considered.  "  Me  sabe,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  Me  sabe  paper,  sabe  ranch  all  time  b'longum  yo'.  All 
same,  him  like  for  ketchum  yo'  ranch.  Me  hear  much 
talk,  him  talk  Man-that-coughs,  tellum  him  ketchum 
ranch.  Much  white  man  come,  so — "  He  lifted  one 
hand  with  thumb  and  fingers  outspread,  made  a  down- 
ward gesture,  and  then  raised  three  fingers.  "  Catchum 
ranch." 

Peaceful  shook  his  head  while  he  smiled.  "  No  can 
do  that.  Mebbyso  much  men  come,  heap  fight,  mebbyso 
killum  me,  ranch  all  same  b'longum  my  boys.  Men  that 
fights  go  to  jail,  mebbyso  hangum."  He  indicated  by 
signs  his  exact  meaning. 

Peppajee  scowled,  and  shook  his  head  stubbornly. 
"  Me  heap  sabe.  All  same,  ketchum  yo'  ranch.  Man- 
that-catchum-fish  Jcay  bueno.  Yo'  thinkum  frien', 


114  GOOD    INDIAN 

yo'  damfool.  Him  all  same  rattlesnake.  Plenty  foolum 
yo'.  Yo'  see.  Yo'  thinkum  Peppajee  Jim  heap  big 
fool.  Peaceful  Hart,  him  all  time  one  heap  big  dam- 
fool.  Him  ketchum  yo'  ranch.  Yo'  see."  He  stopped 
and  stared  hard  at  the  dim  bulk  of  the  grove,  whence 
came  the  faint  odor  of  smoke  from  Baumberger's  pipe. 
"  Yo'  be  smart  man,"  he  added  grimly,  "  yo'  all  same 
kickum  dat  mans  off  yo'  ranch."  For  emphasis  he  thrust 
out  a  foot  vigorously  in  the  direction  of  the  house  and 
the  man  he  maligned,  and  turned  his  face  toward  camp. 
Peaceful  watched  until  the  blanketed  form  merged  into 
the  dusk  creeping  over  the  valley,  and  when  it  disap- 
peared finally  into  the  short  cut  through  the  sage,  he 
shook  his  gray  head  in  puzzlement  over  the  absurd 
warning,  and  went  back  to  talk  politics  with  Baum- 
berger. 


CHAPTEK  X 

MIDNIGHT   PEOWLEES 

CAME  midnight  and  moonlight  together,  and  with 
them  came  also  Good  Indian  riding  somewhat 
sullenly  down  the  trail  to  the  ranch.  Sullen  because  of 
Evadna's  attitude,  which  seemed  to  him  permanently 
antagonistic,  and  for  very  slight  cause,  and  which  made 
the  ranch  an  unpleasant  abiding  place. 

He  decided  that  he  would  not  stop  at  the  ranch,  but 
would  go  on  up  the  valley  to  where  one  Abner  Hicks 
lived  by  himself  in  a  half-dugout,  half-board  shack,  and 
by  mining  a  little  where  his  land  was  untillable,  and 
farming  a  little  where  the  soil  took  kindly  to  fruit  and 
grasses,  managed  to  exist  without  too  great  hardship. 
The  pension  he  received  for  having  killed  a  few  of  his 
fellow-men  at  the  behest  of  his  government  was  devoted 
solely  to  liquid  relief  from  the  monotony  of  his  life, 
and  welcome  indeed  was  the  man  who  brought  him  a 
bottle  of  joy  between  times.  Wherefore  Good  Indian 
had  thoughtfully  provided  himself  with  a  quart  or  so 
and  rode  with  his  mind  at  ease  so  far  as  his  welcome 
at  the  Hicks  dwelling  place  was  concerned. 


116  GOOD    INDIAN 

Once  again  the  Peaceful  Hart  ranch  lay  in  brooding 
silence  under  the  shadow  of  the  bluff.  A  few  crickets 
chirped  shrilly  along  the  trail,  and  from  their  sudden 
hush  as  he  drew  near  marked  unerringly  his  passing. 
Along  the  spring-fed  creek  the  frogs  croaked  a  tuneless 
medley  before  him,  and,  like  the  crickets,  stopped 
abruptly  and  waited  in  absolute  silence  to  take  up  their 
night  chant  again  behind  him.  His  horse  stepped  softly 
in  the  deep  sand  of  the  trail,  and,  when  he  found  that 
his  rider  refused  to  let  him  stop  at  the  stable-door,  shook 
his  head  in  mute  displeasure,  and  went  quietly  on.  As 
he  neared  the  silent  house,  the  faint  creak  of  saddle- 
leather  and  the  rattle  of  spur-chains  against  his  iron 
stirrups  were  smothered  in  the  whispering  of  the  tree- 
tops  in  the  grove,  so  that  only  the  quick  hushing  of 
night  noises  alone  betrayed  him  to  any  wakeful  ear. 

He  was  guilty  of  staring  hard  at  that  corner  of  the 
house  where  he  knew  Evadna  slept,  and  of  scowling  over 
the  vague  disquiet  which  the  thought  of  her  caused  him. 
No  girl  had  ever  troubled  his  mind  before.  It  annoyed 
him  that  the  face  and  voice  of  Evadna  obtruded,  even 
upon  his  thoughts  of  other  things. 

The  grove  was  quiet,  and  he  could  hear  Gene's  un- 
mistakable snore  over  by  the  pond  —  the  only  sound 
save  the  whispering  of  the  trees,  which  went  on,  unmind- 
ful of  his  approach.  It  was  evident,  he  thought,  that  the 


MIDNIGHT   PROWLERS     117 

ghost  was  effectually  laid  —  and  on  the  heels  of  that, 
as  he  rode  out  from  the  deep  shade  of  the  grove  and 
on  past  the  garden  to  the  meadows  beyond,  he  wondered 
if,  after  all,  it  was  again  hardily  wandering  through 
the  night;  for  he  thought  he  glimpsed  a  figure  which 
flitted  behind  a  huge  rock  a  few  rods  in  advance  of  him, 
and  his  eyes  were  not  used  to  playing  him  tricks. 

He  gave  a  twitch  of  his  fingers  upon  the  reins,  and 
turned  from  the  trail  to  investigate.  He  rode  up  to 
the  rock,  which  stood  like  an  island  of  shade  in  that 
sea  of  soft  moonlight,  and,  peering  into  the  shadows, 
spoke  a  guarded  challenge: 

"Who's  that?" 

A  figure  detached  itself  without  sound  from  the  blot 
of  darkness  there,  and  stood  almost  at  his  stirrup. 

"  Yo'  Good  Injun  —  me  likum  for  talk  yo'." 

Good  Indian  was  conscious  of  a  distinct  disappoint- 
ment, though  he  kept  it  from  his  voice  when  he  an- 
swered : 

"  Oh,  it 's  you,  Peppajee.  What  you  do  here  ?  Why 
you  no  sleepum  yo'  wikiup  ? " 

Peppajee  held  up  a  slim,  brown  hand  for  silence,  and 
afterward  rested  it  upon  the  saddle-fork. 

"  Yo'  heap  frien'  Peaceful.  Me  heap  frien'  all 
same.  Mebbyso  we  talk.  Yo'  get  down.  No  can  see 
yo',  mebbyso;  yo'  no  likum  bad  man  for  see."  He 


118  GOOD    INDIAN 

stepped  back  a  pace,  and  let  Good  Indian  dismount; 
then  with  a  gesture  he  led  him  back  into  the  shadow 
of  the  rock. 

"  Well,  what 's  the  row  ?  "  Good  Indian  asked  im- 
patiently, and  curiously  as  well. 

Peppajee  spoke  more  hastily  than  was  usual.  "  Me 
watchum  Man-that-catchum-fish.  Him  hee-eeap  kay 
bueno.  Me  no  sabe  why  him  walk,  walk  in  night  —  me 
heap  watchum." 

"  You  mean  Baumberger  ?  He 's  all  right.  He 
comes  down  here  to  catchum  many  fish  —  trout,  up  in 
the  Malad,  you  sabe.  Heap  friend  Peaceful.  You  no 
likum?" 

"Kay  bueno."  Peppajee  rested  a  forefinger  upon 
Good  Indian's  arm.  "  Sun  up  there,"  he  pointed  high 
in  the  west.  "  Me  go  all  same  Hartley.  Come  stable  — 
Pete  stable  —  me  walkum  close  —  no  makum  noise. 
Me  hear  talk.  Stoppum  —  no  can  see  —  me  hear  much 
bad  talk.  All  time  me  hear,  heap  likum  for  steal  dis 
ranch.  Me  no  sabe  " —  his  tone  was  doubtful  for  a 
space  —  "all  same,  me  hear  stealum  this  ranch.  Man, 
you  callum — " 

"  Baumberger  ?  "  suggested  Grant. 

"  Him.  All  same  Baumberga,  him  talk  Man-that- 
coughs.  All  time  say  stealum  ranch.  Makum  much 
bad  talk,  them  mans.  Me  come  ranch,  me  tellum  Peace- 


MIDNIGHT   PROWLERS     119 

ful,  him  all  time  laugh,  me.  All  time  shakum  head. 
Mebbyso  thinkum  I  lie  —  shont-isham !  " 

"  What  more  you  do  ?  "  Good  Indian,  at  least,  did 
not  laugh. 

"  Me  go  camp.  Me  thinkum,  thinkum  all  time. 
Dat  man  have  bad  heart.  Kay  bueno.  No  can  sleep 
—  thinkum  mebbyso  do  bad  for  Peaceful.  Come  ranch, 
stop  all  time  dark,  all  time  lieap  watchum.  Bimeby, 
mebbyso  man  —  all  same  yo'  callum  Baumberga  —  him 
come,  look,  so — "  He  indicated,  by  a  great  craning 
of  neck  in  all  directions,  the  wariness  of  one  who  goes 
by  stealth.  "  Him  walk  still  all  time,  go  all  time  ova 
there."  He  swept  his  arm  toward  the  meadows.  "  Me 
go  still,  for  watchum.  Yo'  come,  mebbyso  make  heap 
much  noise  —  kay  bueno.  Dat  mans,  him  hear,  him 
heap  scare.  Me  tellum,  yo'  mebbyso  go  still."  He  folded 
his  arms  with  a  gesture  of  finality,  and  stood  statue-like 
in  the  deep  gloom  beside  the  rock. 

Good  Indian  fingered  his  horse's  mane  while  he  con- 
sidered the  queer  story.  There  must  be  something  in 
it,  he  thought,  to  bring  Peppajee  from  his  blankets  at 
midnight  and  to  impel  him,  unfriendly  as  he  usually 
seemed,  to  confide  his  worry  to  him  at  once  and  without 
urging.  And  yet,  to  steal  the  Peaceful  Hart  ranch  — 
the  idea  was  ludicrous.  Still,  there  was  no  harm  in  look- 
ing around  a  bit.  He  sought  a  sagebrush  that  suited 


120  GOOD    INDIAN 

his  purpose,  tied  his  horse  to  it,  stooped,  and  took  the 
clanking  Mexican  spurs  from  his  heels,  and  touched 
Peppajee  on  the  shoulder. 

"  All  right,"  he  murmured  close  to  his  ear,  "  we  go 


Without  a  word,  Peppajee  turned,  and  stole  away 
toward  the  meadows,  keeping  always  in  the  shadow  of 
rock  or  bush,  silent-footed  as  a  prowling  bobcat.  Close 
behind  him,  not  quite  so  silent  because  of  his  riding- 
boots,  which  would  strike  now  and  then  upon  a  rock, 
however  careful  he  was  of  his  footing,  went  Good 
Indian. 

So  they  circled  the  meadow,  came  into  sand  and  sage 
beyond,  sought  there  unavailingly,  went  on  to  the  or- 
chard, and  skirted  it,  keen  of  eye  and  ear,  struck  quietly 
through  it,  and  came  at  last  to  the  place  where,  the  night 
before,  Grant  had  overtaken  Evadna  —  and  it  surprised 
him  not  a  little  to  feel  his  heart  pounding  unreasonably 
against  his  ribs  when  he  stopped  beside  the  rock  where 
they  had  sat  and  quarreled. 

Peppajee  looked  back  to  see  why  Grant  paused  there, 
and  then,  wrapping  his  blanket  tightly  around  him, 
crawled  through  the  fence,  and  went  on,  keeping  to  the 
broad  belt  of  shade  cast  upon  the  ground  by  the  row  of 
poplars.  Where  the  shade  stopped  abruptly,  and  beyond 
lay  white  moonlight  with  the  ranch  buildings  blotching 


MIDNIGHT   PROWLERS     l«l 

it  here  and  there,  he  stopped  and  waited  until  Good 
Indian  stood  close  beside  him.  Even  then  he  did  not 
speak,  but,  freeing  an  arm  slowly  from  the  blanket  folds, 
pointed  toward  the  stable. 

Grant  looked,  saw  nothing,  stared  harder,  and  so; 
feeling  sure  there  must  be  something  hidden  there,  pres- 
ently believed  that  a  bit  of  the  shadow  at  that  end  which 
was  next  the  corral  wavered,  stopped,  and  then  moved 
unmistakably.  All  the  front  of  the  stable  was  dis- 
tinctly visible  in  the  white  light,  and,  while  they  looked, 
something  flitted  across  it,  and  disappeared  among  the 
sage  beyond  the  trail. 

Again  they  waited ;  two  minutes,  three  minutes,  five. 
Then  another  shadow  detached  itself  slowly  from  the 
shade  of  the  stable,  hesitated,  walked  out  boldly,  and 
crossed  the  white  sand  on  the  path  to  the  house.  Baum- 
berger  it  was,  and  he  stopped  midway  to  light  his  pipe, 
and  so,  puffing  luxuriously,  went  on  into  the  blackness 
of  the  grove. 

They  heard  him  step  softly  upon  the  porch,  heard 
also  the  bovine  sigh  with  which  he  settled  himself  in  the 
armchair  there.  They  caught  the  aromatic  odor  of  to- 
bacco smoke  ascending,  and  knew  that  his  presence  there 
had  all  at  once  become  the  most  innocent,  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world;  for  any  man,  waking  on 
such  a  night,  needs  no  justification  for  smoking  a  noc- 


GOOD    INDIAN 

turnal  pipe  upon  the  porch  while  he  gazes  dreamily  out 
upon  the  moon-bathed  world  around  him. 

Peppajee  touched  Grant's  arm,  and  turned  back, 
skirting  the  poplars  again  until  they  were  well  away 
from  the  house,  and  there  was  no  possibility  of  being 
heard.  He  stopped  there,  and  confronted  the  other. 

"  What  for  you  no  stoppum  stable  ?  "  he  questioned 
bluntly.  "  What  for  you  no  stoppum  ranch,  for 
sleepum  ?  " 

"  I  go  for  stoppum  Hicks'  ranch,"  said  Good  Indian, 
without  any  attempt  at  equivocation. 

Peppajee  grunted.  "  What  for  yo'  no  stoppum  all 
same  Peacefu'  ? " 

Good  Indian  scorned  a  subterfuge,  and  spoke  truly. 
"  That  girl,  Evadna,  no  likum  me.  All  time  mad  me. 
So  I  no  stoppum  ranch,  no  more." 

Peppajee  grinned  briefly  and  understandingly,  and 
nodded  his  head.  "  Me  heap  sabe.  Yo'  all  time  heap 
like  for  catchum  that  girl,  be  yo'  squaw.  Bimeby  that 
girl  heap  likum  yo'.  Me  sabe."  He  stood  a  moment 
staring  at  the  stars  peeping  down  from  above  the  rim- 
rock  which  guarded  the  bluff.  "  All  same,  yo'  no  go 
stoppum  Hicks,"  he  commanded.  "  Yo'  stoppum  dis 
ranch  all  time.  Yo'  all  time  watchum  man  —  yo' 
callum  Baumberga."  He  seemed  to  remember  and 
speak  the  name  with  some  difficulty.  "  Where  him  go, 


MIDNIGHT    PROWLERS 

yo'  go,  for  heap  watchum.  All  time  mebbyso  me 
watchum  Man-that-coughs.  Me  no  sabe  catchum  ranch 
—  all  same,  me  watchum.  Them  mans  heap  kay  bueno. 
Yo' bet  yo' life!" 

A  moment  he  stood  there  after  he  was  through  speak- 
ing, and  then  he  was  not  there.  Good  Indian  did  not 
hear  him  go,  though  he  had  stood  beside  him;  neither 
could  he,  catching  sight  of  a  wavering  shadow,  say  posi- 
tively that  there  went  Peppajee. 

He  waited  for  a  space,  stole  back  to  where  he  could 
hear  any  sound  from  the  porch  even  if  he  could  not  see, 
and  when  he  was  certain  that  Baumberger  had  gone  back 
to  his  bed,  he  got  his  horse,  took  him  by  a  roundabout 
way  to  the  stable,  and  himself  slept  in  a  haystack.  At 
least,  he  made  himself  a  soft  place  beside  one,  and  lay 
there  until  the  sun  rose,  and  if  he  did  not  sleep  it  was 
not  his  fault,  for  he  tried  hard  enough; 

That  is  how  Good  Indian  came  to  take  his  usual  place 
at  the  breakfast  table,  and  to  touch  elbows  with  Evadna 
and  to  greet  her  with  punctilious  politeness  and  nothing 
more.  That  is  why  he  got  out  his  fishing-tackle  and  an- 
nounced that  he  thought  he  would  have  a  try  at  some 
trout  himself,  and  so  left  the  ranch  not  much  behind 
Baumberger.  That  is  why  he  patiently  whipped  the 
Malad  riffles  until  he  came  up  with  the  portly  lawyer 
from  Shoshone,  and  found  him  gleeful  over  a  full  basket 


124.  GOOD    INDIAN 

and  bubbling  with  innocent  details  of  this  gamy  one  and 
that  one  still  gamier.  They  rode  home  together,  and 
together  they  spent  the  hot  afternoon  in  the  cool  depths 
of  the  grove. 

By  sundown  Good  Indian  was  ready  to  call  himself  a 
fool  and  Peppajee  Jim  a  meddlesome,  visionary  old 
idiot.  Steal  the  Peaceful  Hart  ranch?  The  more  he 
thought  of  it,  the  more  ridiculous  the  thing  seemed. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"  YOU  CAN'T  PLAY  WITH  ME  " 

GOOD  INDIAN  was  young,  which  means  that  he 
was  not  always  logical,  nor  much  given  to  look- 
ing very  far  into  the  future  except  as  he  was  personally 
concerned  in  what  he  might  see  there.  By  the  time 
Sunday  brought  Miss  Georgie  Howard  and  the  stir  of 
preparation  for  the  fishing  trip,  he  forgot  that  he  had 
taken  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  watching  the 
obviously  harmless  movements  of  Baumberger,  or  had 
taken  seriously  the  warnings  of  Peppajee  Jim ;  or  if  he 
did  not  forget,  he  at  least  pushed  it  far  into  the  back- 
ground of  his  mind  with  the  assertion  that  Peppajee 
was  a  meddlesome  old  fool  and  Baumberger  no  more 
designing  than  he  appeared  —  which  was  not  at  all. 

What  did  interest  him  that  morning  was  the  change- 
ful mood  of  Evadna ;  though  he  kept  his  interest  so  well 
hidden  that  no  one  suspected  it  —  not  even  the  young 
lady  herself.  It  is  possible  that  if  Evadna  had  known 
that  Good  Indian's  attitude  of  calm  oblivion  to  her 
moods  was  only  a  mask,  she  might  have  continued  longer 
her  rigorous  discipline  of  averted  face  and  frigid  tones. 


126  GOOD    INDIAN 

As  it  was,  she  thawed  toward  him  as  he  held  himself 
more  aloof,  until  she  actually  came  to  the  point  of  ad- 
dressing him  directly,  with  a  flicker  of  a  smile  for  good 
measure ;  and,  although  he  responded  with  stiff  civility, 
he  felt  his  blood  pulse  faster,  and  suddenly  conceived 
the  idea  that  women  are  like  the  creatures  of  the  wild. 
If  one  is  very  quiet,  and  makes  no  advance  whatever,  the 
hunted  thing  comes  closer  and  closer,  and  then  a  sudden 
pounce  —  he  caught  his  breath.  After  that  he  was  wary 
and  watchful  and  full  of  his  purpose. 

Within  ten  minutes  Evadna  walked  into  the  trap. 
They  had  started,  and  were  fifty  yards  up  the  trail, 
when  Phoebe  shouted  frantically  after  them.  And  be- 
cause she  was  yet  a  timid  rider  and  feared  to  keep  the 
pace  set  by  the  others,  it  was  Evadna  who  heard  and 
turned  back  to  see  what  was  the  trouble.  Aunt  Phoebe 
was  standing  beside  the  road,  waving  a  flask. 

"  It 's  the  cream  for  your  coffee,"  she  cried,  going  to 
meet  Evadna.  "  You  can  slip  it  into  your  jacket-pocket, 
can't  you,  honey  ?  Huckleberry  is  so  steady  —  and  you 
won't  do  any  wild  riding  like  the  boys." 

"  I  've  got  my  veil  and  a  box  of  bait  and  two  hand- 
kerchiefs and  a  piece  of  soap,"  the  girl  complained, 
reaching  down  for  the  bottle,  nevertheless.  "  But  I 
can  carry  it  in  my  hand  till  I  overtake  somebody  to  give 
it  to." 


'YOU    CAN'T    PLAY' 

The  somebody  proved  to  be  Good  Indian,  who  had 
found  it  necessary  to  stop  and  inspect  carefully  the  left 
forefoot  of  his  horse,  without  appearing  aware  of  the 
girl's  approach.  She  ambled  up  at  Huckleberry's  fa- 
vorite shuffling  gait,  struck  him  with  her  whip  —  a  blow 
which  would  not  have  perturbed  a  mosquito  —  when  he 
showed  a  disposition  to  stop  beside  Grant,  and  then, 
when  Huckleberry  reluctantly  resumed  his  pacing, 
pulled  him  up,  and  looked  back  at  the  figure  stooped 
over  the  hoof  he  held  upon  his  knee.  He  was  digging 
into  the  caked  dirt  inside  the  hoof  with  his  pocket- 
knife,  and,  though  Evadna  waited  while  she  might  have 
spoken  a  dozen  words,  he  paid  not  the  slightest  atten- 
tion —  and  that  in  spite  of  the  distinct  shadow  of  her 
head  and  shoulders  which  lay  at  his  feet. 

"  Oh  —  Grant,"  she  began  perfunctorily,  "  I  'm  sorry 
to  trouble  you  —  but  do  you  happen  to  have  an  empty 
pocket  ? " 

Good  Indian  gave  a  final  scrape  with  his  knife,  and 
released  the  foot,  which  Keno  immediately  stamped  pet- 
tishly into  the  dust.  He  closed  the  knife,  after  wiping 
the  blade  upon  his  trousers  leg,  and  returned  it  to  his 
pocket  before  he  so  much  as  glanced  toward  her. 

"  I  may  have.  Why  ? "  He  picked  up  the  bridle- 
reins,  caught  the  saddle-horn,  and  thrust  his  toe  into 
the  stirrup.  From  under  his  hat-brim  he  saw  that 


128  GOOD    INDIAN 

she  was  pinching  her  under  lip  between  her  teeth,  and 
the  sight  raised  his  spirits  considerably. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  Aunt  Phoebe  called  me  back,  and 
gave  me  a  bottle  of  cream,  is  all.  I  shall  have  to  carry 
it  in  my  hand,  I  suppose."  She  twitched  her  shoulders, 
and  started  Huckleberry  off  again.  She  had  called 
him  Grant,  instead  of  the  formal  Mr.  Imsen  she  had 
heretofore  clung  to,  and  he  had  not  seemed  to  notice  it 
even. 

He  mounted  with  perfectly  maddening  deliberation,  but 
for  all  that  he  overtook  her  before  she  had  gone  farther 
than  a  few  rods,  and  he  pulled  up  beside  her  with  a 
decision  which  caused  Huckleberry  to  stop  also ;  Huckle- 
berry, it  must  be  confessed,  was  never  known  to  show 
any  reluctance  in  that  direction  when  his  head  was 
turned  away  from  home.  He  stood  perfectly  still  while 
Good  Indian  reached  out  a  hand. 

"  I  '11  carry  it  —  I  'm  more  used  to  packing  bottles," 
he  announced  gravely. 

"  Oh,  but  if  you  must  carry  it  in  your  hand,  I 
would  n't  dream  of  — "  She  was  holding  fast  the  bottle, 
and  trying  to  wear  her  Christmas^angel  look. 

Good  Indian  laid  hold  of  the  flask,  and  they  stood 
there  stubbornly  eying  each  other. 

"  I  thought  you  wanted  me  to  carry  it,"  he  said  at 
last,  pulling  harder. 


'YOU   CAN'T   PLAY'          129 

"  I  merely  asked  if  you  had  an  empty  pocket." 
Evadna  clung  the  tighter. 

"  Now,  what 's  the  use  — " 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinking !  "  Evadna  was  so  im- 
polite as  to  interrupt  him. 

Good  Indian  was  not  skilled  in  the  management  of 
women,  but  he  knew  horses,  and  to  his  decision  he  added 
an  amendment.  Instinctively  he  followed  the  method 
taught  him  by  experience,  and  when  he  fancied  he  saw 
in  her  eyes  a  sign  of  weakening,  he  followed  up  the  ad- 
vantage he  had  gained. 

"  Let  go  —  because  I  'm  going  to  have  it  anyway, 
now,"  he  said  quietly,  and  took  the  flask  gently  from 
her  hands.  Then  he  smiled  at  her  for  yielding,  and 
his  smile  was  a  revelation  to  the  girl,  and  brought  the 
blood  surging  up  to  her  face.  She  rode  meekly  beside 
him  at  the  pace  he  himself  set  —  which  was  not  rapid, 
by  any  means.  He  watched  her  with  quick,  sidelong 
glances,  and  wondered  whether  he  would  dare  say  what 
he  wanted  to  say  —  or  at  least  a  part  of  it. 

She  was  gazing  with  a  good  deal  of  perseverance  at 
the  trail,  down  the  windings  of  which  the  others  could 
be  seen  now  and  then  galloping  through  the  dust,  so  that 
their  progress  was  marked  always  by  a  smothering  cloud 
of  gray.  Then  she  looked  at  Grant  unexpectedly,  met 
one  of  his  sharp  glances,  and  flushed  hotly  again. 


130  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  How  about  this  business  of  hating  each  other,  and 
not  speaking  except  to  please  Aunt  Phoebe  ?  "  he  de- 
manded, with  a  suddenness  which  startled  himself. 
He  had  been  thinking  it,  but  he  had  n't  intended  to  say 
it  until  the  words  spoke  themselves.  "  Are  we  sup- 
posed to  keep  on  acting  the  fool  indefinitely  ? " 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I,  at  least,  was  acting  the 
fool,"  she  retorted,  with  a  washed-out  primness. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  fight  the  air,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  try. 
What  I  've  got  to  say,  I  prefer  to  say  straight  from  the 
shoulder.  I  'm  sick  of  this  standing  off  and  giving  each 
other  the  bad  eye  over  nothing.  If  we  're  going  to  stay 
on  the  same  ranch,  we  might  as  well  be  friends.  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

For  a  time  he  thought  she  was  not  going  to  say  any- 
thing. She  was  staring  at  the  dust-cloud  ahead,  and 
chewing  absently  at  the  corner  of  her  under  lip,  and  she 
kept  it  up  so  long  that  Good  Indian  began  to  scowl  and 
call  himself  unseemly  names  for  making  any  overture 
whatever.  But,  just  as  he  turned  toward  her  with  lips 
half  opened  for  a  bitter  sentence,  he  saw  a  dimple  ap- 
pear in  the  cheek  next  to  him,  and  held  back  the 
words. 

"  You  told  me  you  did  n't  like  me,"  she  reminded, 
looking  at  him  briefly,  and  afterward  fumbling  her 
reins.  "  You  can't  expect  a  girl  — " 


'YOU    CAN'T    PLAY'          131 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  coming  up  to  me 
that  first  night,  and  calling  me  names,  and  telling  me 
how  you  hated  me,  and  —  and  winding  up  by  pinching 
me  ? "  he  insinuated  with  hypocritical  reproach,  and  felt 
of  his  arm.  "  If  you  could  see  the  mark  — "  he  hinted 
shamelessly. 

Evadna  replied  by  pushing  up  her  sleeve  and  dis- 
playing a  scratch  at  least  an  inch  in  length,  and  still 
roughened  and  red.  "  I  suppose  you  don't  remember 
trying  to  murder  me  ?  "  she  inquired,  sweetly  trium- 
phant. "  If  you  could  shoot  as  well  as  Jack,  I  'd  have 
been  killed  very  likely.  And  you  'd  be  in  jail  this  min- 
ute," she  added,  with  virtuous  solemnity. 

"  But  you  're  not  killed,  and  I  'm  not  in  jail." 

"  And  I  have  n't  told  a  living  soul  about  it  —  not 
even  Aunt  Phoebe,"  Evadna  remarked,  still  painfully 
virtuous.  "If  I  had—" 

"  She  'd  have  wondered,  maybe,  what  you  were  doing 
away  down  there  in  the  middle  of  the  night,"  Good  In- 
dian finished.  "  I  did  n't  tell  a  soul,  either,  for  that 
matter." 

They  left  the  meadowland  and  the  broad  stretch  of 
barren  sand  and  sage,  and  followed,  at  a  leisurely  pace, 
the  winding  of  the  trail  through  the  scarred  desolation 
where  the  earth  had  been  washed  for  gold.  Evadna 
stared  absently  at  the  network  of  deep  gashes,  evidently 


132  GOOD    INDIAN 

meditating  very  seriously.  Finally  she  turned  to  Grant 
with  an  honest  impulse  of  friendliness. 

"  Well,  I  'm  sure  I  'm  willing  to  bury  the  tomahawk 
—  er  —  that  is,  I  mean — "  She  blushed  hotly  at  the 
slip,  and  stammered  incoherently. 

"  Never  mind."  His  eyes  laughed  at  her  confusion. 
"  I  'm  not  as  bad  as  all  that ;  it  does  n't  hurt  my  feelings 
to  have  tomahawks  mentioned  in  my  presence." 

Her  cheeks  grew  redder,  if  that  were  possible,  but 
she  made  no  attempt  to  finish  what  she  had  started  to 
say. 

Good  Indian  rode  silent,  watching  her  unobtrusively 
and  wishing  he  knew  how  to  bring  the  conversation  by 
the  most  undeviating  path  to  a  certain  much-desired 
conclusion.  After  all,  she  was  not  a  wild  thing,  but  a 
human  being,  and  he  hesitated.  In  dealing  with  men, 
he  had  but  one  method,  which  was  to  go  straight  to  the 
point  regardless  of  consequences.  So  he  half  turned  in 
the  saddle  and  rode  with  one  foot  free  of  the  stirrup 
that  he  might  face  her  squarely. 

"  You  say  you  're  willing  to  bury  the  tomahawk ;  do 
you  mean  it  ?  "  His  eyes  sought  hers,  and  when  they 
met  her  glance  held  it  in  spite  of  her  blushes,  which 
indeed  puzzled  him.  But  she  did  not  answer  immedi- 
ately, and  so  he  repeated  the  question. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?    We  've  been  digging  into  each 


'YOU   CAN'T   PLAY'          133 

other  pretty  industriously,  and  saying  how  we  hate  each 
other  —  but  are  you  willing  to  drop  it  and  be  friends  ? 
It 's  for  you  to  say  —  and  you  've  got  to  say  it  now." 

Evadna  flung  up  her  head  at  that.  "  Are  you  in  the 
habit  of  laying  down  the  law  to  everyone  who  will  per- 
mit it  ?  "  she  evaded. 

"  Am  I  to  take  it  for  granted  you  meant  what  you 
said  ?  "  He  stuck  stubbornly  to  the  main  issue.  "  Girls 
seem  to  have  a  way  of  saying  things,  whether  they  mean 
anything  or  not.  Did  you  ?  " 

"  Did  I  what  ?  "    She  was  wide-eyed  innocence  again. 

Good  Indian  muttered  something  profane,  and  kicked 
his  horse  in  the  ribs.  When  it  had  taken  no  more  than 
two  leaps  forward,  however,  he  pulled  it  down  to  a 
walk  again,  and  his  eyes  boded  ill  for  the  misguided 
person  who  goaded  him  further.  He  glanced  at  the  girl 
sharply. 

"  This  thing  has  got  to  be  settled  right  now,  without 
any  more  fooling  or  beating  about  the  bush,"  he  said  — 
and  he  said  it  so  quietly  that  she  could  scarcely  be 
blamed  for  not  realizing  what  lay  beneath.  She  was 
beginning  to  recover  her  spirits  and  her  composure, 
and  her  whole  attitude  had  become  demurely  impish. 

"  Settle  it  then,  why  don't  you  ?  "  she  taunted  sweetly. 
"  I  'm  sure  I  have  n't  the  faintest  idea  what  there  is  to 
settle  —  in  that  solemn  manner.  I  only  know  we  're 


134.  GOOD    INDIAN 

a  mile  behind  the  others,  and  Miss  Georgie  will  be 
wondering  — " 

"  You  say  I  'm  to  settle  it,  the  way  I  want  it 
settled  ? " 

If  Evadna  did  not  intend  anything  serious,  she  cer- 
tainly was  a  fool  not  to  read  aright  his  ominously  calm 
tone  and  his  tensely  quiet  manner.  She  must  have  had 
some  experience  in  coquetry,  but  it  is  very  likely  that  she 
had  never  met  a  man  just  like  this  one.  At  all  events, 
she  tilted  her  blonde  head,  smiled  at  him  daringly,  and 
then  made  a  little  grimace  meant  to  signify  her  defiance 
of  him  and  his  unwarranted  earnestness. 

Good  Indian  leaned  unexpectedly,  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  and  kissed  her  three  times  upon  her  teasing,  smil- 
ing mouth,  and  while  she  was  gasping  for  words  to 
voice  her  amazement  he  drew  back  his  head,  and  gazed 
sternly  into  her  frightened  eyes. 

"  You  can't  play  with  me/'  he  muttered  savagely, 
and  kissed  her  again.  "  This  is  how  I  settle  it.  You  Ve 
made  me  want  you  for  mine.  It 's  got  to  be  love  or  — 
hate  now.  There  is  n't  anything  between,  for  me  and 
you."  His  eyes  passed  hungrily  from  her  quivering 
lips  to  her  eyes,  and  the  glow  within  his  own  made  her 
breath  come  faster.  She  struggled  weakly  to  free  her- 
self, and  his  clasp  only  tightened  jealously. 

"  If  you  had  hated  me,  you  would  n't  have  stopped 


She  struggled  weakly  to  free  herself,  and  his  clasp  only  tightened 
jealously.     Page  134. 


'YOU    CAN'T    PLAY'          135 

back  there,  and  spoken  to  me,"  he  said,  the  words  com- 
ing in  a  rush.  "  Women  like  to  play  with  love,  I  think. 
But  you  can't  play  with  me.  I  want  you.  And  I  'm 
going  to  have  you.  Unless  you  hate  me.  But  you  don't. 
I  'd  stake  my  life  on  it."  And  he  kissed  her  again. 

Evadna  reached  up,  felt  for  her  hat,  and  began  pulling 
it  straight,  and  Good  Indian,  recalled  to  himself  by  the 
action,  released  her  with  manifest  reluctance.  He  felt 
then  that  he  ought  never  to  let  her  go  out  of  his  arms ; 
it  was  the  only  way,  it  seemed  to  him,  that  he  could 
be  sure  of  her.  Evadna  found  words  to  express  her 
thoughts,  and  her  thoughts  were  as  wholly  conventional 
as  was  the  impulse  to  straighten  her  hat. 

"  We  've  only  known  each  other  a  week !  "  she  cried 
tremulously,  while  her  gloved  fingers  felt  inquiringly 
for  loosened  hairpins.  "  You  've  no  right  —  you  're 
perfectly  horrid !  You  take  everything  for  granted  — " 

Good  Indian  laughed  at  her,  a  laugh  of  pure,  ele- 
mental joy  in  life  and  in  love. 

"  A  man's  heart  does  not  beat  by  the  calendar.  Na- 
ture made  the  heart  to  beat  with  love,  ages  before  man 
measured  time,  and  prattled  of  hours  and  days  and 
weeks,"  he  retorted.  "  I  'm  not  the  same  man  I  was  a 
week  ago.  Nor  an  hour  ago.  What  does  it  matter  ?  I 
am  —  the  man  I  am  now."  He  looked  at  her  more 
calmly.  "  An  hour  ago,"  he  pointed  out,  "  I  did  u't 


136  GOOD    INDIAN 

dream  I  should  kiss  you.  Nor  you,  that  you  would 
let  me  do  it." 

"  I  did  n't !  I  could  n't  help  myself.  You  —  oh,  I 
never  saw  such  a  —  a  brute!  "  The  tears  in  her  eyes 
were,  perhaps,  tears  of  rage  at  the  swiftness  with  which 
he  had  mastered  the  situation  and  turned  it  in  a  breath 
from  the  safe  channel  of  petty  argument.  She  struck 
Huckleberry  a  blow  with  her  whip  which  sent  that  aston- 
ished animal  galloping  down  the  slope  before  them,  his 
ears  laid  back  and  his  white  eyelashes  blinking  resent- 
ment against  the  outrage. 

Good  Indian  laughed  aloud,  spurred  Keno  into  a 
run,  and  passed  her  with  a  scurry  of  dust,  a  flash  of 
white  teeth  and  laughing  black  eyes,  and  a  wave  of 
his  free  hand  in  adieu.  He  was  still  laughing  when  he 
overtook  the  others,  passed  by  the  main  group,  and 
singled  out  Jack,  his  particular  chum.  He  refused  to 
explain  either  his  hurry  or  his  mirth  further  than  to 
fling  out  a  vague  sentence  about  a  race,  and  thereafter 
he  ambled  contentedly  along  beside  Jack  in  the  lead, 
and  told  how  he  had  won  a  hundred  and  sixty  dollars  in 
a  crap  game  the  last  time  he  was  in  Shoshone,  and  how 
he  had  kept  on  until  he  had  "  quit  ten  dollars  in  the 
hole."  The  rest  of  the  boys,  catching  a  few  words 
here  and  there,  crowded  close,  and  left  the  two  girls  to 
themselves,  while  Good  Indian  recounted  in  detail  the 


'YOU    CAN'T    PLAY'          137 

fluctuations  of  the  game;  how  he  had  seesawed  for  an 
hour,  winning  and  losing  alternately ;  and  how  his  luck 
had  changed  suddenly  just  when  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  play  a  five-dollar  gold  piece  he  had  in  his  hand 
and  quit. 

"  I  threw  naturals  three  times  in  succession,"  he  said, 
"and  let  my  bets  ride.  Then  I  got  Big  Dick,  made 
good,  and  threw  another  natural.  I  was  seeing  those 
Spanish  spurs  and  that  peach  of  a  headstall  in  Fer- 
nando's  by  that  time ;  seeing  them  on  Keno  and  me  — 
they  're  in  the  window  yet,  Jack,  and  I  went  in  when 
I  first  hit  town  and  looked  them  over  and  priced  them; 
a  hundred  and  fifty,  just  about  what  we  guessed  he  'd 
hold  them  at.  And  say,  those  conchos  —  you  remember 
the  size  of  'em,  Jack  ?  —  they  're  solid  silver,  hammered 
out  and  engraved  by  hand.  Those  Mexicans  sure  do 
turn  out  some  fine  work  on  their  silver  fixings !  "  He 
felt  in  his  pocket  for  a  match. 

"  Pity  I  did  n't  let  well  enough  alone,"  he  went  on. 
"  I  had  the  price  of  the  outfit,  and  ten  dollars  over. 
But  then  I  got  hoggish.  I  thought  I  stood  a  good 
chance  of  making  seven  lucky  passes  straight  —  I  did 
once,  and  I  never  got  over  it,  I  guess.  I  was  going  to 
pinch  down  to  ten  —  but  I  did  n't ;  I  let  her  ride.  And 
shot  craps!  " 

He  drew  the  match  along  the  stamped  saddle-skirt 


138  GOOD    INDIAN 

behind  the  cantle,  because  that  gave  him  a  chance  to 
steal  a  look  behind  him  without  being  caught  in  the 
act.  Good,  wide  hat-brims  have  more  uses  than  to 
shield  one's  face  from  the  sun.  He  saw  that  Evadna 
was  riding  in  what  looked  like  a  sulky  silence  beside 
her  friend,  but  he  felt  no  compunction  for  what  he 
had  done;  instead  he  was  exhilarated  as  with  some 
heady  wine,  and  he  did  not  want  to  do  any  thinking 
about  it  —  yet.  He  did  not  even  want  to  be  near 
Evadna.  He  faced  to  the  front,  and  lighted  his  cigarette 
while  he  listened  to  the  sympathetic  chorus  from  the 
boys. 

"  What  did  you  do  then  ?  "  asked  Gene. 

"  Well,  I  'd  lost  the  whole  blamed  chunk  on  a  pair 
of  measly  aces,"  he  said.  "  I  was  pretty  sore  by  that 
time,  I  'm  telling  you !  I  was  down  to  ten  dollars,  but 
I  started  right  in  to  bring  back  that  hundred  and  sixty. 
Funny,  but  I  felt  exactly  as  if  somebody  had  stolen 
that  headstall  and  spurs  right  out  of  my  hand,  and  I 
just  had  to  get  it  back  pronto.  I  started  in  with  a  dol- 
lar, lost  it  on  craps  —  sixes,  that  time  —  sent  another 
one  down  the  same  trail  trying  to  make  Little  Joe  come 
again,  third  went  on  craps,  fourth  I  doubled  on  nine, 
lost  'em  both  on  craps  —  say,  I  never  looked  so  many 
aces  and  sixes  in  the  face  in  my  life !  It  was  sure  kay 
bueno,  the  luck  I  had  that  night.  I  got  up  broke,  and 


'YOU    CAN'T    PLAY'  139 

had  to  strike  Riley  for  money  to  get  out  of  town  with." 
So  for  a  time  he  managed  to  avoid  facing  squarely 
this  new  and  very  important  factor  which  must  hence- 
forth have  its  place  in  the  problem  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  THEM  DAMN'  SNAKE  " 

THREE  hundred  yards  up  the  river,  in  the  shade 
of  a  huge  bowlder,  round  an  end  of  which  the 
water  hurried  in  a  green  swirl  that  it  might  the  sooner 
lie  quiet  in  the  deep,  dark  pool  below,  Good  Indian, 
picking  his  solitary  way  over  the  loose  rocks,  came  unex- 
pectedly upon  Baumberger,  his  heavy  pipe  sagging  a 
corner  of  his  flabby  mouth,  while  he  painstakingly  de- 
tached a  fly  from  his  leader,  hooked  it  into  the  proper 
compartment  of  his  fly-book,  and  hesitated  over  his 
selection  of  another  to  take  its  place.  Absorption  was 
writ  deep  on  his  gross  countenance,  and  he  recognized 
the  intruder  by  the  briefest  of  flickering  glances  and 
the  slightest  of  nods. 

"  Keep  back  from  that  hole,  will  yuh  ?  "  he  muttered, 
jerking  his  head  toward  the  still  pool.  "  I  ain't  tried  it 

yet." 

Good  Indian  was  not  particularly  interested  in  his 
own  fishing.  The  sight  of  Baumberger,  bulking  there 
in  the  shade  with  his  sagging  cheeks  and  sagging  pipe, 


"THEM  DAMN'  SNAKE'   141 

his  flopping  old  hat  and  baggy  canvas  fishing-coat,  with 
his  battered  basket  slung  over  his  slouching  shoulder 
and  sagging  with  the  weight  of  his  catch;  the  sloppy 
wrinkles  of  his  high,  rubber  boots  shining  blackly  from 
recent  immersion  in  the  stream,  caught  his  errant  atten- 
tion, and  stayed  him  for  a  few  minutes  to  watch. 

Loosely  disreputable  looked  Lawyer  Baumberger, 
from  the  snagged  hole  in  his  hat-crown  where  a  wisp 
of  graying  hair  fluttered  through,  to  the  toes  of  his 
ungainly,  rubber-clad  feet ;  loosely  disreputable,  but  not 
commonplace  and  not  incompetent.  Though  his  speech 
might  be  a  slovenly  mumble,  there  was  no  purposeless 
fumbling  of  the  fingers  that  chose  a  fly  and  knotted  it 
fast  upon  the  leader.  There  was  no  bungling  move- 
ment of  hand  or  foot  when  he  laid  his  pipe  upon  the 
rock,  tiptoed  around  the  corner,  sent  a  mechanical 
glance  upward  toward  the  swaying  branches  of  an  over- 
hanging tree,  pulled  out  his  six  feet  of  silk  line  with 
a  sweep  of  his  arm,  and  with  a  delicate  fillip,  sent  the 
fly  skittering  over  the  glassy  center  of  the  pool. 

Good  Indian,  looking  at  him,  felt  instinctively  that  a 
part,  at  least,  of  the  man's  nature  was  nakedly  revealed 
to  him  then.  It  seemed  scarcely  fair  to  read  the  lust 
of  him  and  the  utter  abandonment  to  the  hazard  of  the 
game.  Pitiless  he  looked,  with  clenched  teeth  just 
showing  between  the  loose  lips  drawn  back  in  a  grin 


142  GOOD    INDIAN 

that  was  half -snarl,  half-involuntary  contraction  of  mus- 
cles sympathetically  tense. 

That  was  when  a  shimmering  thing  slithered  up, 
snapped  at  the  fly,  and  flashed  away  to  the  tune  of  sing- 
ing reel  and  the  dance  of  the  swaying  rod.  The  man 
grew  suddenly  cruel  and  crafty  and  full  of  lust;  and 
Good  Indian,  watching  him,  was  conscious  of  an  inward 
shudder  of  repulsion.  He  had  fished  all  his  life  —  had 
Good  Indian  —  and  had  found  joy  in  the  sport.  And 
here  was  he  inwardly  condemning  a  sportsman  who  stood 
self -revealed,  repelling,  hateful;  a  man  who  gloated 
over  the  struggle  of  something  alive  and  at  his  mercy; 
to  whom  sport  meant  power  indulged  with  impunity. 
Good  Indian  did  not  try  to  put  the  thing  in  words,  but 
he  felt  it  nevertheless. 

"  Brute !  "  he  muttered  aloud,  his  face  eloquent  of 
cold  disgust. 

At  that  moment  Baumberger  drew  the  tired  fish 
gently  into  the  shallows,  swung  him  deftly  upon  the 
rocks,  and  laid  hold  of  him  greedily. 

"  Ain't  he  a  beaut  ?  "  he  cried,  in  his  wheezy  chuckle. 
"  Wait  a  minute  while  I  weigh  him.  He  '11  go  over  a 
pound,  I  '11  bet  money  on  it."  Gloatingly  he  held  it 
in  his  hands,  removed  the  hook,  and  inserted  under  the 
gills  the  larger  one  of  the  little  scales  he  carried  inside 
his  basket. 


''THEM    DAMN'    SNAKE'      143 

"  Pound  and  four  ounces,"  he  announced,  and  slid 
the  fish  into  his  basket.  He  was  the  ordinary,  good- 
natured,  gross  Baumberger  now.  He  reached  for  his 
pipe,  placed  it  in  his  mouth,  and  held  out  a  hand  to  Good 
Indian  for  a  match. 

"  Say,  young  fella,  have  you  got  any  stand-in  with 
your  noble  red  brothers  ? "  he  asked,  after  he  had  sucked 
life  into  the  charred  tobacco. 

"  Cousins  twice  or  three  times  removed,  you  mean," 
said  Good  Indian  coldly,  too  proud  and  too  lately  re- 
pelled to  meet  the  man  on  friendly  ground.  "  Why  do 
you  ask  ? " 

Baumberger  eyed  him  speculatively  while  he  smoked, 
and  chuckled  to  himself. 

"  One  of  'em  —  never  mind  placing  him  on  his  own 
p'ticular  limb  of  the  family  tree  —  has  been  doggin' 
me  all  morning,"  he  said  at  last,  and  waved  a  fishy  hand 
toward  the  bluff  which  towered  high  above  them.  "  Saw 
him  when  I  was  comin'  up,  about  sunrise,  pokin'  along 
behind  me  in  the  sagebrush.  Did  n't  think  anything 
of  that  —  thought  maybe  he  was  hunting  or  going  fish- 
ing —  but  he  's  been  sneakin'  around  behind  me  ever 
since.  I  don't  reckon  he  's  after  my  scalp  —  not  enough 
hair  to  pay  —  but  I  'd  like  to  know  what  the  dickens 
he  does  mean." 

"Nothing  probably,"  Good  Indian  told  him  shortly, 


GOOD    INDIAN 

his  eyes  nevertheless  searching  the  rocks  for  a  sight  of 
the  watcher. 

"  Well,  I  don't  much  like  the  idea,"  complained  Baum- 
berger,  casting  an  eye  aloft  in  fear  of  snagging  his  line 
when  he  made  another  cast.  "  He  was  right  up  there  a 
few  minutes  ago."  He  pointed  his  rod  toward  a  sun- 
ridden  ridge  above  them.  "  I  got  a  flicker  of  his  green 
blanket  when  he  raised  up  and  scowled  down  at  me. 
He  ducked  when  he  saw  me  turn  my  head  —  looked  to 
me  like  the  surly  buck  that  blew  in  to  the  ranch  the 
night  I  came ;  Jim  something-or-other.  By  the  great  im- 
mortal Jehosaphat !  "  he  swore  humorously,  "  I  'd  like 
to  tie  him  up  in  his  dirty  blanket  and  heave  him  into 
the  river  —  only  it  would  kill  all  the  fish  in  the  Malad." 

Good  Indian  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I  know  it 's  funny,  young  fella,"  Baumberger 
growled.  "  About  as  funny  as  being  pestered  by  a 
mosquito  buzzing  under  your  nose  when  you  're  playing 
a  fish  that  keeps  cuttin'  figure  eights  in  a  hole  the  size 
uh  that  one  there." 

"  I  '11  go  up  and  take  a  look,"  Good  Indian  offered 
carelessly. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  would.  I  can't  keep  my  mind  on 
m'  fishing  —  just  wondering  what  the  deuce  he  's  after. 
And  say !  You  tell  him  I  '11  stand  him  on  his  off  ear 
if  I  catch  him  doggin'  me  ag'in.  Folks  come  with 


'THEM    DAMN'    SNAKE'      145 

yuh?"  he  remembered  to  ask  as  he  prepared  for  an- 
other cast  into  the  pool. 

"  They  're  down  there  getting  a  campfire  built,  ready 
to  fry  what  fish  they  catch,"  Good  Indian  informed 
him,  as  he  turned  to  climb  the  bluff.  "  They  're  going 
to  eat  dinner  under  that  big  ledge  by  the  rapids.  You 
better  go  on  down." 

He  stood  for  a  minute,  and  watched  Baumberger 
make  a  dexterous  cast,  which  proved  fruitless,  before  he 
began  climbing  up  the  steep  slope  of  jumbled  bowlders 
upon  which  the  bluff  itself  seemed  to  rest.  He  was  not 
particularly  interested  in  his  quest,  but  he  was  in  the 
mood  for  purposeless  action;  he  still  did  not  want  to 
think. 

He  climbed  negligently,  scattering  loose  rocks  down 
the  hill  behind  him.  He  had  no  expectation  of  coming 
upon  Peppajee  —  unless  Peppajee  deliberately  put 
himself  in  his  way  —  and  so  there  was  no  need  of 
caution.  He  stopped  once,  and  stood  long  minutes  with 
his  head  turned  to  catch  the  faint  sound  of  high-keyed 
laughter  and  talk  which  drifted  up  to  him.  If  he  went 
higher,  he  thought,  he  might  get  a  glimpse  of  them  —  of 
her,  to  tell  his  thought  honestly.  Whereupon  he  forgot 
all  about  finding  and  expostulating  with  Peppajee,  and 
sought  only  a  point  of  the  ridge  which  would  give 
him  a  clear  view  downstream. 


146  GOOD    INDIAN 

To  be  sure,  he  might  as  easily  have  retraced  his 
steps  and  joined  the  group,  and  seen  every  changing 
look  in  her  face.  But  he  did  not  want  to  be  near  her 
when  others  were  by;  he  wanted  her  to  himself,  or  not 
at  all.  So  he  went  on,  while  the  sun  beat  hotly  down 
upon  him  and  the  rocks  sent  up  dry  waves  of  heat  like 
an  oven. 

A  rattlesnake  buzzed  its  strident  warning  between 
two  rocks,  but  before  he  turned  his  attention  to  the 
business  of  killing  it,  the  snake  had  crawled  leisurely 
away  into  a  cleft,  where  he  could  not  reach  it  with  the 
stones  he  threw.  His  thoughts,  however,  were  brought 
back  to  his  surroundings  so  that  he  remembered  Peppa- 
jee.  He  stood  still,  and  scanned  carefully  the  jumble 
of  rocks  and  bowlders  which  sloped  steeply  down  to  the 
river,  looking  for  a  betraying  bit  of  color  or  dirty- 
gray  hat-crown. 

"  But  I  could  look  my  eyes  out  and  welcome,  if  he 
didn't  want  to  be  seen,"  he  concluded,  and  sat  down 
while  he  rolled  a  cigarette.  "  And  I  don't  know  as  I 
want  to  see  him,  anyway."  Still,  he  did  not  move  im- 
mediately. He  was  in  the  shade,  which  was  a  matter 
for  congratulation  on  such  a  day.  He  had  a  cigarette 
between  his  lips,  which  made  for  comfort;  and  he  still 
felt  the  exhilarating  effects  of  his  unpremeditated 
boldness,  without  having  come  to  the  point  of  sober 


"THEM  DAMN'  SNAKE'   147 

thinking.  He  sat  there,  and  blew  occasional  mouthfuls 
of  smoke  into  the  quivering  heat  waves,  and  stared 
down  at  the  river  rushing  over  the  impeding  rocks  as 
if  its  very  existence  depended  upon  reaching  as  soon  as 
possible  the  broader  sweep  of  the  Snake. 

He  finished  the  first  cigarette,  and  rolled  another 
from  sheer  force  of  habit  rather  than  because  he  really 
wanted  one.  He  lifted  one  foot,  and  laid  it  across  his 
knee,  and  was  drawing  a  match  along  the  sole  of  his 
boot  when  his  eyes  chanced  to  rest  for  a  moment  upon 
a  flutter  of  green,  which  showed  briefly  around  the 
corner  of  a  great  square  rock  poised  insecurely  upon  one 
corner,  as  if  it  were  about  to  hurl  its  great  bulk  down 
upon  the  river  it  had  watched  so  long.  He  held  the 
blazing  match  poised  midway  to  its  destination  while 
he  looked ;  then  he  put  it  to  the  use  he  had  meant  it  for, 
pulled  his  hat-brim  down  over  his  right  eye  and  ear  to 
shield  them  from  the  burn  of  the  sun,  and  went  picking 
his  way  idly  over  to  the  place. 

"Hul-lol"  he  greeted,  in  the  manner  of  one  who 
refuses  to  acknowledge  the  seriousness  of  a  situation 
which  confronts  him  suddenly.  "  What 's  the  excite- 
ment ? " 

There  was  no  excitement  whatever.  There  was  Pep- 
pa  jee,  hunched  up  against  the  rock  in  that  uncomfort- 
able attitude  which  permits  a  man  to  come  at  the  most 


148  GOOD    INDIAN 

intimate  relations  with  the  outside  of  his  own  ankle, 
upon  which  he  was  scowling  in  seeming  malignity. 
There  was  his  hunting-knife  lying  upon  a  flat  stone  near 
to  his  hand,  with  a  fresh  red  blotch  upon  the  blade, 
and  there  was  his  little  stone  pipe  clenched  between  his 
teeth  and  glowing  red  within  the  bowl.  Also  there  was 
the  ankle,  purple  and  swollen  from  the  ligature  above 
it  —  for  his  legging  was  off  and  torn  into  strips  which 
formed  a  bandage,  and  a  splinter  of  rock  was  twisted 
ingeniously  in  the  wrappings  for  added  tightness. 
From  a  crisscross  of  gashes  a  sluggish,  red  stream 
trickled  down  to  the  ankle-bone,  and  from  there  drip- 
dropped  into  a  tiny,  red  pool  in  the  barren,  yellow 
soil. 

"  Catchum  rattlesnake  bite  ? "  queried  Good  Indian 
inanely,  as  is  the  habit  of  the  onlooker  when  the  scene 
shouts  forth  eloquently  its  explanation,  and  questions 
are  almost  insultingly  superfluous. 

"  Huh ! "  grunted  Peppajee,  disdaining  further 
speech  upon  the  subject,  and  regarded  sourly  the  red 
drip. 

"  Want  me  to  suck  it  ? "  ventured  Good  Indian  un- 
enthusiastically, eying  the  wound. 

"  Huh !  "  Peppajee  removed  the  pipe,  his  eyes  still 
upon  his  ankle.  "  Plenty  blood  come,  mebbyso."  To 
make  sure,  however,  he  kneaded  the  swollen  flesh  about 


'THEM    DAMN'    SNAKE'      149 

the   wound,   thus   accelerating  slightly  the   red   drip. 

Then  deliberately  he  took  another  turn  with  the  rock, 
sending  the  buckskin  thongs  deeper  into  the  flesh,  and 
held  the  burning  pipe  against  the  skin  above  the  wound 
until  Good  Indian  sickened  and  turned  away  his  head. 
When  he  looked  again,  Peppajee  was  sucking  hard  at 
the  pipe,  and  gazing  impersonally  at  the  place.  He 
bent  again,  and  hid  the  glow  of  his  pipe  against  his 
ankle.  His  thin  lips  tightened  while  he  held  it  there, 
but  the  lean,  brown  fingers  were  firm  as  splinters  of  the 
rock  behind  him.  When  the  fire  cooled,  he  fanned  it 
to  life  again  with  his  breath,  and  when  it  winked  redly 
at  him  he  laid  it  grimly  against  his  flesh. 

So,  while  Good  Indian  stood  and  looked  on  with  lips 
as  tightly  drawn  as  the  other's,  he  seared  a  circle  around 
the  wound  —  a  circle  which  bit  deep  and  drew  apart  the 
gashes  like  lips  opened  for  protest.  He  regarded  crit- 
ically his  handiwork,  muttered  a  "  Bueno  "  under  his 
breath,  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  returned 
it  to  some  mysterious  hiding-place  beneath  his  blanket. 
Then  he  picked  up  his  moccasin. 

"  Them  damn'  snake,  him  no  speakum,"  he  observed 
disgustedly.  "  Heap  fool  me ;  him  biteum  " —  he  made 
a  stabbing  gesture  with  thumb  and  finger  in  the  air  by 
way  of  illustration —  "  then  him  go  quick."  He  began 
gingerly  trying  to  force  the  moccasin  upon  his  foot,  his 


150  GOOD    INDIAN 

mouth  drawn  down  with  the  look  of  one  who  considers 
that  he  has  been  hardly  used. 

"  How  you  get  home  ?  "  Good  Indian's  thoughts 
swung  round  to  practical  things.  "  You  got  horse  ? " 

Peppajee  shook  his  head,  reached  for  his  knife,  and 
slit  the  moccasin  till  it  was  no  more  than  a  wrapping. 
"  Mebbyso  heap  walk,"  he  stated  simply. 

"  Mebbyso  you  won't  do  anything  of  the  kind,"  Good 
Indian  retorted.  "  You  come  down  and  take  a  horse. 
What  for  you  all  time  watchum  Baumberger  ? "  he 
added,  remembering  then  what  had  brought  them  both 
upon  the  bluff.  "  Baumberger  all  time  fish  —  no  more." 
He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  Malad.  "  Baumberger 
bueno  —  catchum  fish  —  no  more." 

Peppajee  got  slowly  and  painfully  upon  his  feet  — 
rather,  upon  one  foot.  When  Good  Indian  held  out  a 
steadying  arm,  he  accepted  it,  and  leaned  rather  heavily. 

"  Yo'  eyes  sick,"  said  Peppajee,  and  grinned  sar- 
donically. "  Yo'  eyes  see  all  time  Squaw-with-sun-hair. 
Fillum  yo'  eyes,  yo'  see  notting.  Yo'  catchum  squaw, 
bimeby  mebbyso  see  plenty  mo'.  Me  no  catchum  sick 
eye.  Mebbyso  me  see  heap  plenty." 

"  What  you  see,  you  all  time  watchum  Baum- 
berger ? " 

But  Peppajee,  hobbling  where  he  must  walk,  crawling 
where  he  might,  sliding  carefully  where  a  slanting 


"THEM  DAMN'  SNAKE'   151 

bowlder  offered  a  few  feet  of  smooth  descent,  and  taking 
hold  of  Good  Indian's  offered  arm  when  necessity  im- 
pelled him,  pressed  his  thin  lips  together,  and  refused 
to  answer.  So  they  came  at  last  to  the  ledge  beside  the 
rapids,  where  a  thin  wisp  of  smoke  waved  lazily  in 
the  vagrant  breeze  which  played  with  the  ripples  and 
swayed  languidly  the  smaller  branches  of  the  nearby 
trees. 

Only  Donny  was  there,  sitting  disgruntled  upon  the 
most  comfortable  rock  he  could  find,  sulking  because 
the  others  had  taken  all  the  fishing-tackle  that  was  of 
any  account,  and  had  left  him  to  make  shift  with  one 
bent,  dulled  hook,  a  lump  of  fat  pork,  and  a  dozen  feet 
of  line. 

"  And  I  can  catch  more  fish  than  anybody  in  the 
bunch ! "  he  began  complainingly  and  without  preface, 
waving  a  dirty  hand  contemptuously  at  the  despised 
tackle  when  the  two  came  slowly  up.  "  That 's  the  way 
it  goes  when  you  take  a  lot  of  girls  along !  They  've 
got  to  have  the  best  rods  and  tackle,  and  all  they  '11  do 
will  be  to  snag  lines  and  lose  leaders  and  hooks,  and 
giggle  and  squeal.  Aw  —  darn  girls !  " 

"  And  I  'm  going  to  pile  it  on  still  thicker,  Donny," 
Good  Indian  grinned  down  at  him.  "  I  'm  going  to 
swipe  your  Pirate  Chief  for  a  while,  till  I  take  Peppa- 
jee  into  camp.  He 's  gentle,  and  Peppajee  's  got  a 


152  GOOD    INDIAN 

snake-bite.  I  '11  be  back  before  you  get  ready  to  go 
home." 

"  I  'm  ready  to  go  home  right  now,"  growled  Donny, 
sinking  his  chin  between  his  two  palms.  "  But  I  guess 
the  walkin'  ain't  all  taken  up." 

Good  Indian  regarded  him  frowningly,  gave  a  little 
snort,  and  turned  away.  Donny  in  that  mood  was  not 
to  be  easily  placated,  and  certainly  not  to  be  ignored. 
He  went  over  to  the  little  flat,  and  selected  Jack's  horse, 
saddled  him,  and  discovered  that  it  had  certain  well- 
defined  race  prejudices,  and  would  not  let  Peppajee  put 
foot  to  the  stirrup.  Keno  he  knew  would  be  no  more 
tractable,  so  that  he  finally  slapped  Jack's  saddle  on 
Huckleberry,  and  so  got  Peppajee  mounted  and  headed 
toward  camp. 

"  You  tell  Jack  I  borrowed  his  saddle  and  Huckle- 
berry," he  called  out  to  the  drooping  little  figure  on  the 
rock.  "  But  I  '11  get  back  before  they  want  to  go  home." 

But  Donny  was  glooming  over  his  wrongs,  and  neither 
heard  nor  wanted  to  hear.  Having  for  his  legacy  a 
temper  cumulative  in  its  heat,  he  was  coming  rapidly 
to  the  point  where  he,  too,  started  home,  and  left  no 
word  or  message  behind;  a  trivial  enough  incident  in 
itself,  but  one  which  opened  the  way  for  some  mis- 
understanding and  fruitless  speculation  upon  the  part 
of  Evadna. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CLOUD-SIGN    VERSUS    CUPID 

FEW  men  are  ever  called  upon  by  untoward  cir- 
cumstance to  know  the  sensations  caused  by  rattle- 
snake bite,  knife  gashes,  impromptu  cauterization,  and, 
topping  the  whole,  the  peculiar  torture  of  congested  veins 
and  swollen  muscles  which  comes  from  a  tourniquet. 
The  feeling  must  be  unpleasant  in  the  extreme,  and  the 
most  morbid  of  sensation-seekers  would  scarcely  put 
himself  in  the  way  of  that  particular  experience. 

Peppajee  Jim,  therefore,  had  reason  in  plenty  for 
glowering  at  the  world  as  he  saw  it  that  day.  He  held 
Huckleberry  rigidly  down  to  his  laziest  amble  that  the 
jar  of  riding  might  be  lessened,  kept  his  injured  foot 
free  from  the  stirrup,  and  merely  grunted  when  Good 
Indian  asked  him  once  how  he  felt. 

When  they  reached  the  desolation  of  the  old  placer- 
pits,  however,  he  turned  his  eyes  from  the  trail  where 
it  showed  just  over  Huckleberry's  ears,  and  regarded 
sourly  the  deep  gashes  and  dislodged  bowlders  which 
told  where  water  and  the  greed  of  man  for  gold  had 


154  GOOD    INDIAN 

raged  fiercest.  Then,  for  the  first  time  during  the 
whole  ride,  he  spoke. 

"All  time,  yo'  sleepum,"  he  said,  in  the  sonorous, 
oracular  tone  which  he  usually  employed  when  a  sub- 
ject held  his  serious  thought.  "  Peaceful  Hart,  him  all 
same  sleepum.  All  same  sleepum  'longside  snake.  No 
seeum  snake,  no  thinkum  mebbyso  catchum  bite."  He 
glanced  down  at  his  own  snake-bitten  foot.  "  Snake 
bite,  make  all  time  much  hurt."  His  eyes  turned,  and 
dwelt  sharply  upon  the  face  of  Good  Indian. 

"  Yo'  all  time  thinkum  Squaw-with-sun-hair.  Me  tell 
yo'  for  watchum,  yo'  no  think  for  watchum.  Baum- 
berga,  him  all  same  snake.  Yo'  think  him  all  time 
catchum  fish.  Huh!  Yo'  heap  big  fool,  yo'  thinkum 
dat.  Rattlesnake,  mebbyso  sleepum  in  sun  one  time. 
Yo'  no  thinkum  bueno,  yo'  seeum  sleep  in  sun.  Yo' 
heap  sabe  him  all  time  kay  bueno  jus'  same.  Yo'  heap 
sabe  yo'  come  close,  him  biteum.  Mebbyso  biteum 
hard,  for  killum  yo'  all  time."  He  paused,  then  drove 
home  his  point  like  the  true  orator.  "  Baumberga 
catchum  fish.  All  same  rattlesnake  sleepum  in  sun. 
Kay  bueno/' 

Good  Indian  jerked  his  mind  back  from  delicious 
recollection  of  one  sweet,  swift-passing  minute,  and  half 
opened  his  lips  for  reply.  But  he  did  not  speak;  he 
did  not  know  what  to  say,  and  it  is  ill-spent  time  —  that 


CLOUD-SIGN   VS.    CUPID    155 

passed  in  purposeless  speech  with  such  as  Peppajee. 
Peppajee  roused  himself  from  meditation  brief  as  it 
seemed  deep,  lifted  a  lean,  brown  hand  to  push  back 
from  his  eyes  a  fallen  lock  of  hair,  and  pointed  straight 
away  to  the  west. 

"  Las'  night,  sun  go  sleepum.  Clouds  come  all  same 
blanket,  sun  wrappum  in  blanket.  Cloud  look  heap  mad 
—  mebbyso  make  much  storm.  Bimeby  much  mens 
come  in  cloud,  stand  so — and  so  —  and  so."  With 
pointing  finger  he  indicated  a  half  circle.  "  Otha  man 
come,  heap  big  man.  Stoppum  'way  off,  all  time 
makeum  sign,  for  fight.  Me  watchum.  Me  set  by  fire, 
watchum  cloud  makeum  sign.  Fire  smoke  look  up  for 
say,  '  What  yo'  do  all  time,  mebbyso  ? '  Cloud  man 
shakeum  hand,  makeum  much  sign.  Fire  smoke  heap 
sad,  bend  down  far,  lookum  me,  lookum  where  cloud 
look.  All  time  lookum  for  Peaceful  Hart  ranch.  Me 
lay  down  for  sleepum,  me  dream  all  time  much  fight. 
All  time  bad  sign  come.  Kay  Itueno."  Peppajee  shook 
his  head  slowly,  his  leathery  face  set  in  deep,  somber 
lines. 

"  Much  trouble  come  heap  quick,"  he  said  gravely, 
hitching  his  blanket  into  place  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Me 
no  sdbe  —  all  same,  heap  trouble  come.  Much  mens, 
mebbyso  much  fight,  much  shootum  —  mebbyso  kill. 
Peaceful  Hart  him  all  time  laugh  me.  All  same,  me 


156  GOOD    INDIAN 

sabe  smoke  sign,  sabe  cloud  sign,  sabe  —  Baumberga. 
Heap  Jca-a-ay  bueno!" 

Good  Indian's  memory  flashed  upon  him  a  picture 
of  bright  moonlight  and  the  broody  silence  of  a  night 
half  gone,  and  of  a  figure  forming  sharply  and  sud- 
denly from  the  black  shadow  of  the  stable  and  steal- 
ing away  into  the  sage,  and  of  Baumberger  emerging 
warily  from  that  same  shadow  and  stopping  to  light 
his  pipe  before  he  strolled  on  to  the  house  and  to  the 
armchair  upon  the  porch. 

There  might  be  a  sinister  meaning  in  that  picture, 
but  it  was  so  well  hidden  that  he  had  little  hope  of  ever 
finding  it.  Also,  it  occurred  to  him  that  Peppajee, 
usually  given  over  to  creature  comforts  and  the  idle 
gossip  of  camp  and  the  ranches  he  visited,  was  proving 
the  sincerity  of  his  manifest  uneasiness  by  a  watchful- 
ness wholly  at  variance  with  his  natural  laziness.  On 
the  other  hand,  Peppajee  loved  to  play  the  oracle,  and 
a  waving  wisp  of  smoke,  or  the  changing  shapes  in  a 
wind-riven  cloud  meant  to  him  spirit-sent  prophecies 
not  to  be  ignored. 

He  turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind,  was  the  vic- 
tim of  uneasiness  for  five  minutes,  perhaps,  and  then 
drifted  off  into  wondering  what  Evadna  was  doing  at 
that  particular  moment,  and  to  planning  how  he  should 
manage  to  fall  behind  with  her  when  they  all  rode 


CLOUD-SIGN   VS.    CUPID    157 

home,  and  so  make  possible  other  delicious  moments. 
He  even  took  note  of  certain  sharp  bends  in  the  trail, 
where  a  couple  riding  fifty  yards,  say,  behind  a  group 
would  be  for  the  time  being  quite  hidden  from  sight 
and  to  all  intents  and  purposes  alone  in  the  world  for 
two  minutes,  or  three — perhaps  the  time  might  be 
stretched  to  five. 

The  ranch  was  quiet,  with  even  the  dogs  asleep  in 
the  shade.  Peppajee  insisted  in  one  sentence  upon  going 
straight  on  to  camp,  so  they  did  not  stop.  Without 
speaking,  they  plodded  through  the  dust  up  the  grade, 
left  it,  and  followed  the  dim  trail  through  the  sage- 
brush and  rocks  to  the  Indian  camp  which  seemed 
asleep  also,  except  where  three  squaws  were  squatting 
in  the  sharply  defined,  conical  shadow  of  a  wikiup, 
mumbling  desultorily  the  gossip  of  their  little  world, 
while  their  fingers  moved  with  mechanical  industry  — 
one  shining  black  head  bent  over  a  half-finished,  beaded 
moccasin,  another  stitching  a  crude  gown  of  bright- 
flowered  calico,  and  the  third  braiding  her  hair  afresh 
with  leisurely  care  for  its  perfect  smoothness.  Good 
Indian  took  note  of  the  group  before  it  stirred  to  activ- 
ity, and  murmured  anxiety  over  the  bandaged  foot  of 
Peppajee. 

"  Me  no  can  watchum  more,  mebbyso  six  days.  Yo' 
no  sleepum  all  time  yo'  walk  —  no  thinkum  all  time 


158  GOOD    INDIAN 

squaw.  Mebbyso  yo'  think  for  man-snake.  Mebbyso 
yo'  watchum,"  Peppajee  said,  as  he  swung  slowly  down 
from  Huckleberry's  back. 

"  All  right:  I  '11  watchum  plenty,"  Good  Indian 
promised  lightly,  gave  a  glance  of  passing,  masculine 
interest  at  the  squaw  who  was  braiding  her  hair,  and 
who  was  young  and  fresh-cheeked  and  bright-eyed  and 
slender,  forgot  her  the  instant  his  eyes  left  her,  and 
made  haste  to  return  to  the  Malad  and  the  girl  who  held 
all  his  thoughts  and  all  his  desire. 

That  girl  was  sitting  upon  the  rock  which  Donny  had 
occupied,  and  she  looked  very  much  as  if  she  were  sulk- 
ing, much  as  Donny  had  sulked.  She  had  her  chin  in 
a  pink  palm  and  was  digging  little  holes  in  the  sand 
with  the  tip  of  her  rod,  which  was  not  at  all  beneficial 
to  the  rod  and  did  not  appear  even  to  interest  the  dig- 
ger; for  her  wonderfully  blue  eyes  were  staring  at  the 
green-and-white  churn  of  the  rapids,  and  her  lips  were 
pursed  moodily,  as  if  she  did  not  even  see  what  she  was 
looking  at  so  fixedly. 

Good  Indian's  eyes  were  upon  her  while  he  was  dis- 
mounting, but  he  did  not  go  to  her  immediately.  In- 
stead, he  busied  himself  with  unsaddling,  and  explained 
to  the  boys  just  why  he  had  left  so  unaccountably. 
Secretly  he  was  hoping  that  Evadna  heard  the  explana- 
tion, and  he  raised  his  voice  purposely.  But  Evadna 


CLOUD-SIGN   VS.    CUPID    159 

was  not  listening,  apparently ;  and,  if  she  had  been,  the 
noise  of  the  rapids  would  have  prevented  her  hearing 
what  he  said. 

Miss  Georgie  Howard  was  frying  fish  and  consistently 
snubbing  Baumberger,  who  bulked  loosely  near  the 
campfire,  and  between  puffs  at  his  pipe  praised  heavily 
her  skill,  and  professed  to  own  a  ravenous  appetite. 
Good  Indian  heard  him  as  he  passed  close  by  them,  and 
heard  also  the  keen  thrust  she  gave  in  return;  and  he 
stopped  and  half  turned,  looking  at  her  with  involun- 
tary appreciation.  His  glance  took  in  Baumberger 
next,  and  he  lifted  a  shoulder  and  went  on.  Without 
intentionally  resorting  to  subterfuge,  he  felt  an  urge 
to  wash  his  hands,  and  he  chose  for  his  ablutions  that 
part  of  the  river's  edge  which  was  nearest  Evadna. 

First  he  stooped  and  drank  thirstily,  his  hat  pushed 
back,  while  his  lips  met  full  the  hurrying  water,  clear 
and  cold,  yet  with  the  chill  it  had  brought  from  the 
mountain  springs  which  fed  it,  and  as  he  lifted  his 
head  he  looked  full  at  her. 

Evadna  stared  stonily  over  him  to  where  the  water 
boiled  fastest.  He  might  have  been  one  of  the  rocks, 
for  all  the  notice  she  took  of  him. 

Good  Indian  frowned  with  genuine  puzzlement,  and 
began  slowly  to  wash  his  hands,  glancing  at  her  often 
in  hope  that  he  might  meet  her  eyes.  When  she  did 


160  GOOD    INDIAN 

not  seem  to  see  him  at  all,  the  smile  of  a  secret  shared 
joyously  with  her  died  from  his  own  eyes,  and  when  he 
had  dried  his  hands  upon  his  handkerchief  he  cast  aside 
his  inward  shyness  in  the  presence  of  the  Hart  boys 
and  Miss  Georgie  and  Baumberger,  and  went  boldly 
over  to  her. 

"  Are  n't  you  feeling  well  ? "  he  asked,  with  tender 
proprietorship  in  his  tone. 

"  I  'm  feeling  quite  well,  thank  you,"  returned 
Evadna  frigidly,  neglecting  to  look  at  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  then  ?  Are  n't  you  having  a 
good  time  ?  " 

"  I  'm  enjoying  myself  very  much  —  except  that  your 
presence  annoys  me.  I  wish  you  'd  go  away." 

Good  Indian  turned  on  his  heel  and  went;  he  felt 
that  at  last  Evadna  was  looking  at  him,  though  he 
would  not  turn  to  make  sure.  And  his  instinct  told 
him  withal  that  he  must  ignore  her  mood  if  he  would 
win  her  from  it.  With  a  freakish  impulse,  he  headed 
straight  for  the  campfire  and  Miss  Georgie,  but  when 
he  came  up  to  her  the  look  she  gave  him  of  under- 
standing, with  sympathy  to  soften  it,  sent  him  away 
again  without  speaking. 

He  wandered  back  to  the  river's  edge  —  this  time 
some  distance  from  where  Evadna  sat  —  and  began 
throwing  pebbles  at  the  black  nose  of  a  wave-washed 


CLOUD-SIGN   VS.    CUPID    161 

bowlder  away  toward  the  other  side.  Clark  and  Gene 
loitered  up,  watched  him  lazily,  and,  picking  up  other 
pebbles,  started  to  do  the  same  thing.  Soon  all  the  boys 
were  throwing  at  the  bowlder,  and  were  making  a  good 
deal  of  noise  over  the  various  hits  and  misses,  and  the 
spirit  of  rivalry  waxed  stronger  and  stronger  until  it 
was  like  any  other  game  wherein  full-blooded  youths 
strive  against  one  another  for  supremacy.  They  came 
to  the  point  of  making  bets,  at  first  extravagant  and 
then  growing  more  and  more  genuinely  in  earnest  — 
for  we  're  gamblers  all,  at  heart. 

Miss  Georgie  burned  a  frying-panful  of  fish  until 
they  sent  up  an  acrid,  blue  smoke,  while  she  ran  over 
to  try  her  luck  with  a  stone  or  two.  Even  Baumberger 
heaved  himself  up  from  where  he  was  lounging,  and 
strolled  over  to  watch.  But  Evadna  could  not  have 
stuck  closer  to  her  rock  if  she  had  been  glued  there, 
and  if  she  had  been  blind  and  deaf  she  would  not  have 
appeared  more  oblivious. 

Good  Indian  grew  anxious,  and  then  angry.  The 
savage  stirred  within  him,  and  counseled  immediate  and 
complete  mastery  of  her  —  his  woman.  But  there  was 
the  white  man  of  him  who  said  the  thought  was  brutal 
and  unchivalrous,  and  reminded  the  savage  that  one 
must  not  look  upon  a  woman  as  a  chattel,  to  be  beaten 
or  caressed,  as  the  humor  seized  the  master.  And,  last 


162  GOOD    INDIAN 

of  all,  there  was  the  surface  of  him  laughing  with  the 
others,  fleering  at  those  who  fell  short  of  the  mark,  and 
striving  his  utmost  to  be  first  of  them  all  in  accuracy. 

He  even  smiled  upon  Miss  Georgie  when  she  hit  the 
bowlder  fairly,  and,  when  the  stench  of  the  burning 
fish  drifted  over  to  them,  he  gave  his  supply  of  pebbles 
into  her  two  hands,  and  ran  to  the  rescue.  He  caught 
Evadna  in  the  act  of  regarding  him  sidelong,  just  as  a 
horse  sometimes  will  keep  an  eye  on  the  man  with  the 
rope  in  a  corral;  so  he  knew  she  was  thinking  of  him, 
at  least,  and  was  wondering  what  he  meant  to  do  next, 
and  the  savage  in  him  laughed  and  lay  down  again, 
knowing  himself  the  master. 

What  he  did  was  to  throw  away  the  burnt  fish,  clean 
the  frying-pan,  and  start  more  sizzling  over  the  fire, 
which  he  kicked  into  just  the  right  condition.  He 
whistled  softly  to  himself  while  he  broke  dry  sticks 
across  his  knee  for  the  fire,  and  when  Miss  Georgie 
cried  out  that  she  had  made  three  hits  in  succession,  he 
called  back :  "  Good  shot !  "  and  took  up  the  tune  where 
he  had  left  off.  Never,  for  one  instant,  was  he  uncon- 
scious of  Evadna's  secret  watchfulness,  and  never,  for 
one  instant,  did  he  let  her  see  that  she  was  in  his 
thoughts. 

He  finished  frying  the  fish,  set  out  the  sandwiches 
and  doughnuts,  and  pickled  peaches  and  cheese,  and 


CLOUD-SIGN    VS.    CUPID    163 

pounded  upon  a  tin  plate  to  announce  that  dinner  was 
ready.  He  poured  the  coffee  into  the  cups  held  out  to 
him,  and  got  the  flask  of  cream  from  a  niche  between 
two  rocks  at  the  water's  edge.  He  said  "  Too  bad," 
when  it  became  generally  known  that  the  glare  of  the 
sun  upon  the  water  had  given  Evadna  a  headache,  and 
he  said  it  exactly  as  he  would  have  spoken  if  Jack,  for 
instance,  had  upset  the  sugar. 

He  held  up  the  broken-handled  butcher  knife  that 
was  in  the  camp  kit,  and  declaimed  tragically :  "  Is  this 
a  dagger  that  I  see  before  me?"  and  much  more  of 
the  kind  that  was  eery.  He  saw  the  reluctant  dimple 
which  showed  fleetingly  in  Evadna's  cheek,  and  also  the 
tears  which  swelled  her  eyelids  immediately  after,  but 
she  did  not  know  that  he  saw  them,  though  another  did. 

He  was  taken  wholly  by  surprise  when  Miss  Georgie, 
walking  past  him  afterward  on  her  way  to  an  enticing 
pool,  nipped  his  arm  for  attention  and  murmured: 

"  You  're  doing  fine  —  only  don't  overdo  it.  She  's 
had  just  about  all  she  can  stand  right  now.  Give  her 
a  chance  to  forgive  you  —  and  let  her  think  she  came 
out  ahead!  Good  luck!"  Whereupon  she  finished 
whatever  she  pretended  to  have  been  doing  to  her  fish- 
ing-tackle, and  beckoned  Wally  and  Jack  to  come  along. 

"  We  've  just  got  to  catch  that  big  one,"  she  laughed, 
"  so  Mr.  Baumberger  can  go  home  and  attend  to  his 


164  GOOD    INDIAN 

own  business !  "  It  took  imagination  to  feel  sure  there 
had  been  a  significant  accent  on  the  last  of  the  sentence, 
and  Baumberger  must  have  been  imaginative.  He  low- 
ered his  head  like  a  bull  meditating  assault,  and  his 
leering  eyes  shot  her  a  glance  of  inquiry  and  suspicion. 
But  Miss  Georgie  Howard  met  his  look  with  a  smile 
that  was  nothing  more  than  idle  amusement. 

"  I  'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  get  that  four- 
pounder  on  my  line,"  she  added.  "  It  would  be  the 
joke  of  the  season  —  if  a  woman  caught  him." 

"  Bet  you  could  n't  land  him,"  chuckled  Baumberger, 
breathing  a  sigh  which  might  have  been  relief,  and 
ambled  away  contentedly.  "  I  may  not  see  you  folks 
again  till  supper,"  he  bethought  him  to  call  back.  "  I  'm 
going  to  catch  a  dozen  more  —  and  then  I  thought  I  'd 
take  'em  up  to  Pete  Hamilton ;  I  'm  using  his  horse, 
yuh  see,  and — "  He  flung  out  a  hand  to  round  off 
the  sentence,  turned,  and  went  stumbling  over  a  par- 
ticularly rocky  place. 

Miss  Gleorgie  stood  where  she  was,  and  watched  him 
with  her  mouth  twisted  to  one  side  and  three  perpen- 
dicular creases  between  her  eyebrows.  When  he  was 
out  of  sight,  she  glanced  at  Evadna  —  once  more 
perched  sulkily  upon  the  rock. 

"  Head  still  bad,  chicken  ?  "  she  inquired  cheerfully. 
"  Better  stay  here  in  the  shade  —  I  won't  be  gone  long." 


CLOUD-SIGN   VS.    CUPID    165 

"  I  'm  going  to  fish,"  said  Evadna,  but  she  did  not 
stir,  not  even  when  Miss  Georgie  went  on,  convoyed 
by  all  the  Hart  boys. 

Good  Indian  had  volunteered  the  information  that 
he  was  going  to  fish  downstream,  but  he  was  a  long 
time  in  tying  his  leader  and  fussing  with  his  reel.  His 
preparations  were  finished  just  when  the  last  straggler 
of  the  group  was  out  of  sight.  Then  he  laid  down  his 
rod,  went  over  to  Evadna,  took  her  by  the  arm,  and 
drew  her  back  to  the  farther  shelter  of  the  ledge. 

"  Now,  what 's  the  trouble  ?  "  he  asked  directly.  "  I 
hope  you  're  not  trying  to  make  yourself  think  I  was 
only —  You  know  what  I  meant,  don't  you?  And 
you  said  yes.  You  said  it  with  your  lips,  and  with  your 
eyes.  Did  you  want  more  words  ?  Tell  me  what  it  is 
that  bothers  you." 

There  was  a  droop  to  Evadna's  shoulders,  and  a  trem- 
ble to  her  mouth.  She  would  not  look  at  him.  She 
kept  her  eyes  gazing  downward,  perhaps  to  hide  tears. 
Good  Indian  waited  for  her  to  speak,  and  when  it 
seemed  plain  that  she  did  not  mean  to  do  so,  he  yielded 
to  his  instinct  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Sweetheart !  "  he  murmured  against  her  ear,  and 
it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  spoken  the  word  to 
any  woman.  "  You  love  me,  I  know  it.  You  won't  say 
it,  but  I  know  you  do.  I  should  have  felt  it  this  morn- 


166  GOOD    INDIAN 

ing  if  you  had  n't  cared.  You  —  you  let  me  kiss  you. 
And  — " 

"  And  after  that  you  —  you  rode  off  and  left  me  — 
and  you  went  away  by  yourself,  just  as  if  —  just  as  if 
nothing  had  ^ap-pened,  and  you  've  acted  ever  since  as 
if — "  She  bit  her  lips,  turned  her  face  away  from 
him,  plucked  at  his  hands  to  free  herself  from  his 
clasping  arms,  and  then  she  laid  her  face  down  against 
him,  and  sobbed. 

Good  Indian  tried  his  best  to  explain  his  mood  and 
his  actions  that  day,  and  if  he  did  not  make  himself 
very  clear  —  which  could  scarcely  be  expected,  since 
he  did  not  quite  understand  it  himself  —  he  at  least 
succeeded  in  lifting  from  her  the  weight  of  doubt  and 
of  depression. 

They  were  astonished  when  Wally  and  Jack  and  Miss 
Georgie  suddenly  confronted  them  and  proved,  by  the 
number  of  fish  which  they  carried,  that  they  had  been 
gone  longer  than  ten  minutes  or  so.  They  were  red  as 
to  their  faces,  and  embarrassed  as  to  manner,  and  Good 
Indian  went  away  hurriedly  after  the  horses,  without 
meeting  the  quizzical  glances  of  the  boys,  or  replying 
to  certain  pointed  remarks  which  they  fired  after  him. 

"  And  he 's  the  buckaroo  that 's  got  no  use  for 
girls !  "  commented  Wally,  looking  after  him,  and  ran 
his  tongue  meditatively  along  the  loose  edge  of  his 


CLOUD-SIGN    VS.    CUPID    167 

cigarette.  "  Kid,  I  wish  you  'd  tell  me  how  you  done 
it.  It  worked  quick,  anyhow." 

"  And  thorough,"  grinned  Jack.  "  I  was  thinking 
some  of  falling  in  love  with  you  myself,  Vad.  Soon  as 
some  of  the  shine  wore  off,  and  you  got  so  you  acted 
like  a  real  person." 

"I  saw  it  coming  —  when  it  first  heaved  in  sight," 
chirped  Miss  Georgie,  in  a  more  cheerful  tone  than  she 
had  used  that  day;  in  too  cheerful  a  tone  to  be  quite 
convincing,  if  any  one  there  had  been  taking  notice  of 
mere  tones. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    CLAIM-JUMPEBS 

"T  GUESS  that  bobcat  was  after  my  ducks  again, 
JL  last  night,"  commented  Phoebe  Hart,  when  she 
handed  Baumberger  his  cup  of  coffee.  "  The  way  the 
dogs  barked  all  night  —  did  n't  they  keep  you  awake !  " 
"  Never  slept  better  in  my  life,"  drawled  Baum- 
berger, his  voice  sliding  upward  from  the  first  word  to 
the  last.  His  bloodshot  eyes,  however,  rather  gave  the 
lie  to  his  statement.  "  I  'm  going  to  make  one  more 
try,  'long  about  noon,  for  that  big  one  —  girls  did  n't 
get  him,  I  guess,  for  all  their  threats,  or  I  'd  heard 
about  it.  And  I  reckon  I  '11  take  the  evening  train 
home.  Shoulda  gone  yesterday,  by  rights.  I  'd  like 
to  get  a  basket  uh  fish  to  take  up  with  me.  Great  coffee, 
Mrs.  Hart,  and  such  cream  I  never  did  see.  I  sure  do 
hate  to  leave  so  many  good  things  and  go  back  to  a  board- 
in'  house.  Look  at  this  honey,  now!  "  He  sighed  glut- 
tonously, leaning  slightly  over  the  table  while  he  fed.  ; 
"  Dogs  were  barking  at  something  down  in  the  or- 
chard," Wally  volunteered,  passing  over  Baumberger's 
monologue.  "  I  was  going  down  there,  but  it  was  so 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      169 

dark  —  and  I  thought  maybe  it  was  Gene's  ghost. 
That  was  before  the  moon  came  up.  Got  any  more  bis- 
cuits, mum  ? " 

"  My  trap  was  n't  sprung  behind  the  chicken-house," 
said  Donny.  "  I  looked,  first  thing." 

"Dogs,"  drawled  Baumberger,  his  enunciation 
muffled  by  the  food  in  his  mouth,  "  always  bark.  And 
cats  fight  on  shed-roofs.  Next  door  to  where  I  board 
there  's  a  dog  that  goes  on  shift  as  regular  as  a  police- 
man. Every  night  at  — " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Phce-be !  "  Evadna,  crisp  and  cool  in  a 
summery  dress  of  some  light-colored  stuff,  and  looking 
more  than  ever  like  a  Christmas  angel  set  a-flutter  upon 
the  top  of  a  holiday  fir  in  a  sudden  gust  of  wind,  threw 
open  the  door,  rushed  halfway  into  the  room,  and 
stopped  beside  the  chair  of  her  aunt.  Her  hands 
dropped  to  the  plump  shoulder  of  the  sitter.  "  Aunt 
Phoebe,  there's  a  man  down  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
strawberry  patch !  He  's  got  a  gun,  Aunt  Phoebe,  and 
he  's  camped  there,  and  when  he  heard  me  he  jumped 
up  and  pointed  the  gun  straight  at  me !  " 

"  Why,  honey,  that  can't  be  —  you  must  have  seen 
an  Indian  prowling  after  windfalls  off  the  apricot  trees 
there.  He  would  n't  hurt  you."  Phoebe  reached  up, 
and  caught  the  hands  in  a  reassuring  clasp. 

Evadna's  eyes   strayed   from   one   face  to   another 


170  GOOD    INDIAN 

around  the  table  till  they  rested  upon  Good  Indian,  as 
having  found  sanctuary  there. 

"  But,  Aunt  Phoebe,  he  was  n't.  He  was  a  white 
man.  And  he  has  a  camp  there,  right  by  that  tree  the 
lightning  peeled  the  bark  off.  I  was  close  before  I  saw 
him,  for  he  was  sitting  down  and  the  currant  bushes 
were  between.  But  I  went  through  to  get  round  where 
Uncle  Hart  has  been  irrigating  and  it 's  all  mud,  and 
he  jumped  up  and  pointed  the  gun  at  me.  Just  as  if 
he  was  going  to  shoot  me.  And  I  turned  and  ran."  Her 
fingers  closed  upon  the  hand  of  her  aunt,  but  her  eyes 
clung  to  Good  Indian,  as  though  it  was  to  him  she  was 
speaking. 

"  Tramp,"  suggested  Baumberger,  in  a  tone  of  sooth- 
ing finality,  as  when  one  hushes  the  fear  of  a  child. 
"  Sick  the  dogs  on  him.  He  '11  go  —  never  saw  the  hobo 
yet  that  would  n't  run  from  a  dog."  He  smiled  leer- 
ingly  up  at  her,  and  reached  for  a  second  helping  of 
honey,  v 

Good  Indian  pulled  his  glance  from  Evadna,  and 
tried  to  bore  through  the  beefy  mask  which  was  Baum- 
berger's  face,  but  all  he  found  there  was  a  gross  interest 
in  his  breakfast  and  a  certain  indulgent  sympathy  for 
Evadna's  fear,  and  he  frowned  in  a  baffled  way. 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  tramp  camped  in  our  or- 
chard !  "  flouted  Phoebe.  "  They  don't  get  down  here 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      171 

once  a  year,  and  then  they  always  come  to  the  house. 
You  could  n't  know  there  was  any  strawberry  patch 
behind  that  thick  row  of  trees  —  or  a  garden,  or  any- 
thing else." 

"  He  's  got  a  row  of  stakes  running  clear  across  the 
patch,"  Evadna  recalled  suddenly.  "  Just  like  they  do 
for  a  new  street,  or  a  railroad,  or  something.  And  — " 

Good  Indian  pushed  back  his  chair  with  a  harsh, 
scraping  noise,  and  rose.  He  was  staring  hard  at 
Baumberger,  and  his  whole  face  had  sharpened  till  it 
had  the  cold,  unyielding  look  of  an  Indian.  And  sud- 
denly Baumberger  raised  his  head  and  met  full  that 
look.  For  two  breaths  their  eyes  held  each  other,  and 
then  Baumberger  glanced  casually  at  Peaceful. 

"  Sounds  queer  —  must  be  some  mistake,  though. 
You  must  have  seen  something,  girl,  that  reminded  you 
of  stakes.  A  stub  off  a  sagebush  maybe  ?  "  He  ogled 
her  quite  frankly.  "  When  a  little  girl  gets  scared  — 
Sick  the  dogs  on  him,"  he  advised  the  family  collec- 
tively, his  manner  changing  to  a  blustering  anxiety 
that  her  fright  should  be  avenged. 

Evadna  seemed  to  take  his  tone  as  a  direct  challenge. 
"  I  was  scared,  but  I  know  quite  well  what  I  saw. 
He  wasn't  a  tramp.  He  had  a  regular  camp,  with  a 
coffee-pot  and  frying-pan  and  blankets.  And  there  is 
a  line  of  stakes  across  the  strawberry  patch." 


17JB  GOOD    INDIAN 

Before,  the  breakfast  had  continued  to  seem  an  im- 
portant incident  temporarily  suspended.  Now  Peace- 
ful Hart  laid  hand  to  his  beard,  eyed  his  wife 
questioningly,  let  his  glance  flicker  over  the  faces  of  his 
sons,  and  straightened  his  shoulders  unconsciously. 
Good  Indian  was  at  the  door,  his  mouth  set  in  a  thin, 
straight,  fighting  line.  Wally  and  Jack  were  sliding 
their  chairs  back  from  the  table  preparing  to  follow 
him. 

"  I  guess  it  ain't  anything  much,"  Peaceful  opined 
optimistically.  "  They  can't  do  anything  but  steal 
berries,  and  they  're  most  gone,  anyhow.  Go  ask  him 
what  he  wants,  down  there."  The  last  sentence  was  but 
a  feeble  sort  of  fiction  that  his  boys  would  await  his 
commands;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  outside  be- 
fore he  spoke. 

"  Take  the  dogs  along,"  called  out  Baumberger,  quite 
as  futilely,  for  not  one  of  the  boys  was  within 
hearing. 

Until  they  heard  footsteps  returning  at  a  run,  the 
four  stayed  where  they  were.  Baumberger  rumbled  on 
in  a  desultory  sort  of  way,  which  might  have  caused 
an  observant  person  to  wonder  where  was  his  lawyer 
training,  and  the  deep  cunning  and  skill  with  which  he 
was  credited,  for  his  words  were  as  profitless  and  in- 
consequential as  an  old  woman's.  He  talked  about 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      173 

tramps,  and  dogs  that  barked  o'  nights,  and  touched  gal- 
lantly upon  feminine  timidity  and  the  natural,  pro- 
tective instincts  of  men. 

Peaceful  Hart  may  have  heard  half  of  what  he  said 

—  but  more  likely  he  heard  none  of  it.    He  sat  drawing 
his  white  beard  through  his  hand,  and  his  mild,  blue 
eyes  were  turned  often  to  Phoebe  in  mute  question. 
Phoebe  herself  was  listening,  but  not  to  Baumberger; 
she  was  permitting  Evadna  to  tuck  in  stray  locks  of  her 
soft,  brown  hair,  but  her  face  was  turned  to  the  door 
which  opened  upon  the  porch.     At  the  first  clatter  of 
running  footsteps  on  the  porch,  she  and  Peaceful  pushed 
back  their  chairs  instinctively. 

The  runner  was  Donny,  and  every  freckle  stood  out 
distinctly  upon  his  face. 

"  There  's  four  of  'em,  papa !  "  he  shouted,  all  in  one 
breath.  "  They  're  jumpin'  the  ranch  for  placer  claims. 
They  said  so.  Each  one  's  got  a  claim,  and  they  're 
campin'  on  the  corners,  so  they  '11  be  close  together. 
They're  goin'  to  wash  gold.  Good  Injun — " 

"  Oh !  "  screamed  Evadna  suddenly.    "  Don't  let  him 

—  don't  let  them  hurt  him,  Uncle  Hart ! " 

"  Aw,  they  ain't  fightin',"  Donny  assured  her  dis- 
gustedly. "  They  're  chewin'  the  rag  down  there,  is 
all.  Good  Injun  knows  one  of  'em." 

Peaceful  Hart  stood  indecisively,   and  stared,  one 


174  GOOD    INDIAN 

hand  gripping  the  back  of  his  chair.  His  lips  were 
working  so  that  his  beard  bristled  about  his  mouth. 

"  They  can't  do  nothing  —  the  ranch  belongs  to  me," 
he  said,  his  eyes  turning  rather  helplessly  to  Baum- 
berger.  "  I  've  got  my  patent." 

"  Jumping  our  ranch !  —  for  placer  claims !  " 
Phoebe  stood  up,  leaning  hard  upon  the  table  with  both 
hands.  "  And  we  've  lived  here  ever  since  Clark  was  a 
baby!" 

"  Now,  now,  let 's  not  get  excited  over  this,"  soothed 
Baumberger,  getting  out  of  his  chair  slowly,  like  the 
overfed  glutton  he  was.  He  picked  up  a  crisp  fragment 
of  biscuit,  crunched  it  between  his  teeth,  and  chewed 
it  slowly.  "  Can't  be  anything  serious  —  and  if  it  is, 
why  —  I'm,  here.  A  lawyer  right  on  the  spot  may  save 
a  lot  of  trouble.  The  main  thing  is,  let 's  not  get  ex- 
cited and  do  something  rash.  Those  boys  — " 

"Not  excited?  —  and  somebody  jumping  —  our  — 
ranch  ?  "  Phoebe's  soft  eyes  gleamed  at  him.  She  was 
pale,  so  that  her  face  had  a  peculiar,  ivory  tint. 

"  Now,  now !  "  Baumberger  put  out  a  puffy  hand 
admonishingly.  "Let's  keep  cool — that's  half  the 
battle  won.  Keep  cool."  He  reached  for  his  pipe,  got 
out  his  twisted  leather  tobacco  pouch,  and  opened  it 
with  a  twirl  of  his  thumb  and  finger. 

"  You  're    a    lawyer,    Mr.    Baumberger,"    Peaceful 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      175 

turned  to  him,  still  helpless  in  his  manner.  "  What 's 
the  best  thing  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Don't  —  get  —  excited."  Baumberger  nodded  his 
head  for  every  word.  "  That 's  what  I  always  say  when 
a  client  comes  to  me  all  worked  up.  We  '11  go  down 
there  and  see  just  how  much  there  is  to  this,  and  — 
order  'em  off.  Calmly,  calmly!  No  violence  —  no 
threats  —  just  tell  'em  firmly  and  quietly  to  leave." 
He  stuffed  his  pipe  carefully,  pressing  down  the  to- 
bacco with  the  tip  of  a  finger.  "  Then,"  he  added  with 
slow  emphasis,  "  if  they  don't  go,  after  —  say  twenty- 
four  hours'  notice  —  why,  we  '11  proceed  to  serve  an  in- 
junction." He  drew  a  match  along  the  back  of  his 
chair,  and  lighted  his  pipe. 

"  I  reckon  we  'd  better  go  and  look  after  those  boys 
of  yours,"  he  suggested,  moving  toward  the  door  rather 
quickly,  for  all  his  apparent  deliberation.  "  They  're 
inclined  to  be  hot-headed,  and  we  must  have  no  violence, 
above  all  things.  Keep  it  a  civil  matter  right  through. 
Much  easier  to  handle  in  court,  if  there  's  no  violence 
to  complicate  the  case." 

"  They  're  looking  for  it,"  Phoebe  reminded  him 
bluntly.  "  The  man  had  a  gun,  and  threw  down  on 
Vadnie." 

"He  only  pointed  it  at  me,  auntie,"  Evadna  cor- 
rected, ignorant  of  the  Western  phrase. 


176  GOOD    INDIAN 

The  two  women  followed  the  men  outside  and  into  the 
shady  yard,  where  the  trees  hid  completely  what  lay 
across  the  road  and  beyond  the  double  row  of  poplars. 
Donny,  leaning  far  forward  and  digging  his  bare  toes 
into  the  loose  soil  for  more  speed,  raced  on  ahead, 
anxious  to  see  and  hear  all  that  took  place. 

"  If  the  boys  don't  stir  up  a  lot  of  antagonism," 
Baumberger  kept  urging  Peaceful  and  Phoebe,  as  they 
hurried  into  the  garden,  "  the  matter  ought  to  be  settled 
without  much  trouble.  You  can  get  an  injunction, 
and—" 

"  The  idea  of  anybody  trying  to  hold  our  place  for 
mineral  land !  "  Phoebe's  indignation  was  cumulative 
always,  and  was  now  bubbling  into  wrath.  "  Why, 
my  grief!  Thomas  spent  one  whole  summer  washing 
every  likely  spot  around  here.  He  never  got  anything 
better  than  colors  on  this  ranch  —  and  you  can  get  them 
anywhere  in  Idaho,  almost.  And  to  come  right  into  our 
garden,  in  the  night  —  and  stake  a  placer  claim !  " 
Her  anger  seemed  beyond  further  utterance.  "  The 
idea !  "  she  finished  weakly. 

"  Well  —  but  we  must  n't  let  ourselves  get  excited," 
soothed  Baumberger,  the  shadow  of  him  falling  darkly 
upon  Peaceful  and  Phoebe  as  he  strode  along,  upon  the 
side  next  the  sun.  Peppajee  would  have  called  that  an 
evil  thing,  portending  much  trouble  and  black  treachery. 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      177 

"  That 's  where  people  always  blunder  in  a  thing  like 
this.  A  little  cool-headedness  goes  farther  than  hard 
words  or  lead.  And,"  he  added  cheeringly,  "  it  may  be 
a  false  alarm,  remember.  We  won't  borrow  trouble. 
We  '11  just  make  sure  of  our  ground,  first  thing  we 
do." 

"  It 's  always  easy  enough  to  be  calm  over  the  other 
fellow's  trouble,"  said  Phoebe  sharply,  irritated  in  an 
indefinable  way  by  the  oily  optimism  of  the  other.  "  It 
ain't  your  ox  that 's  gored,  Mr.  Baumberger." 

They  skirted  the  double  row  of  grapevines,  picked 
their  way  over  a  spot  lately  flooded  from  the  ditch,  which 
they  crossed  upon  two  planks  laid  side  by  side,  went 
through  an  end  of  the  currant  patch,  made  a  detour 
around  a  small  jungle  of  gooseberry  bushes,  and  so  came 
in  sight  of  the  strawberry  patch  and  what  was  taking 
place  near  the  lightning-scarred  apricot  tree.  Baum- 
berger lengthened  his  stride,  and  so  reached  the  spot 
first. 

The  boys  were  grouped  belligerently  in  the  strawberry 
patch,  just  outside  a  line  of  new  stakes,  freshly  driven 
in  the  ground.  Beyond  that  line  stood  a  man  facing 
them  with  a  .45-. 70  balanced  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm. 
In  the  background  stood  three  other  men  in  open  spaces 
in  the  shrubbery,  at  intervals  of  ten  rods  or  so,  and  they 
also  had  rifles  rather  conspicuously  displayed.  They 


178  GOOD    INDIAN 

were  grinning,  all  three.  The  man  just  over  the  line 
was  listening  while  Good  Indian  spoke;  the  voice  of 
Good  Indian  was  even  and  quiet,  as  if  he  were  indulging 
in  casual  small  talk  of  the  country,  but  that  particular 
claim- juniper  was  not  smiling.  Even  from  a  distance 
they  could  see  that  he  was  fidgeting  uncomfortably 
while  he  listened,  and  that  his  breath  was  beginning  to 
come  jerkily. 

"  Now,  roll  your  blankets  and  git ! "  Good  Indian 
finished  sharply,  and  with  the  toe  of  his  boot  kicked 
the  nearest  stake  clear  of  the  loose  soil.  He  stooped, 
picked  it  up,  and  cast  it  contemptuously  from  him.  It 
landed  three  freet  in  front  of  the  man  who  had  planted 
it,  and  he  jumped  and  shifted  the  rifle  significantly  upon 
his  arm,  so  that  the  butt  of  it  caressed  his  right  shoulder- 
joint. 

"  Now,  now,  we  don't  want  any  overt  acts  of  violence 
here,"  wheezed  Baumberger,  laying  hand  upon  Good 
Indian's  shoulder  from  behind.  Good  Indian  shook  off 
the  touch  as  if  it  were  a  tarantula  upon  him. 

"  You  go  to  the  devil,"  he  advised  chillingly. 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  Baumberger  reproved  gently.  "  The 
ladies  are  within  hearing,  my  boy.  Let 's  get  at  this 
thing  sensibly  and  calmly.  Violence  only  makes  things 
worse.  See  how  quiet  Wally  and  Jack  and  Clark  and 
Gene  are!  They  realize  how  childishly  spiteful  it 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      179 

would  be  for  them  to  follow  your  example.  They  know 
better.  They  don't  want  — " 

Jack  grinned,  and  hitched  his  gun  into  plainer  view. 
"  When  we  start  in,  it  won't  be  sticks  we  're  sending  to 
His  Nibs,"  he  observed  placidly.  "  We  're  just  waiting 
for  him  to  ante." 

"  This,"  said  Baumberger,  a  peculiar  gleam  coming 
into  his  leering,  puffy-lidded  eyes,  and  a  certain  hard- 
ness creeping  into  his  voice,  "  this  is  a  matter  for  your 
father  and  me  to  settle.  It 's  just  —  a  —  trifle  —  be- 
yond you  youngsters.  This  is  a  civil  case.  Don't  fool- 
ishly make  it  come  under  the  criminal  code.  But 
there !  "  His  voice  purred  at  them  again.  "  You  won't. 
You  're  all  too  clear-headed  and  sensible." 

"  Oh,  sure !  "  Wally  gave  his  characteristic  little 
snort.  "  We  're  only  just  standing  around  to  see  how 
fast  the  cabbages  grow !  " 

Baumberger  advanced  boldly  across  the  dead  line. 

"  Stanley,  put  down  that  gun,  and  explain  your  pres- 
ence here  and  your  object,"  he  rumbled.  "  Let 's  get 
at  this  thing  right  end  to.  First,  what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

The  man  across  the  line  did  not  put  down  his  rifle, 
except  that  he  let  the  butt  of  it  drop  slightly  away  from 
his  shoulder  so  that  the  sights  were  in  alignment  with 
an  irrigating  shovel  thrust  upright  into  the  ground  ten 


180  GOOD    INDIAN 

feet  to  one  side  of  the  group.  His  manner  lost  little  of 
its  watchfulness,  and  his  voice  was  surly  with  defiance 
when  he  spoke.  But  Good  Indian,  regarding  him  sus- 
piciously through  half-closed  lids,  would  have  sworn 
that  a  look  of  intelligence  flashed  between  those  two. 
There  was  nothing  more  than  a  quiver  of  his  nostrils  to 
betray  him  as  he  moved  over  beside  Evadna  —  for  the 
pure  pleasure  of  being  near  her,  one  would  think;  in 
reality,  while  the  pleasure  was  there,  that  he  might  see 
both  Baumberger's  face  and  Stanley's  without  turning 
more  than  his  eyes. 

"  All  there  is  to  it,"  Stanley  began  blustering,  "  you 
see  before  yuh.  I  've  located  twenty  acres  here  as  a 
placer  claim.  That  there  's  the  northwest  corner  — 
ap-prox'm'tley —  close  as  I  could  come  by  sightin'. 
Your  fences  are  straight  with  yer  land,  and  I  happen 
to  sabe  all  yer  corners.  I  've  got  a  right  here.  I  be- 
lieve this  ground  is  worth  more  for  the  gold  that 's  in 
it  than  for  the  turnips  you  can  make  grow  on  top  —  and 
that  there  makes  mineral  land  of  it,  and  as  such,  open  to 
entry.  That 's  accordin'  to  law.  I  ain't  goin'  to  build 
no  trouble  —  but  I  sure  do  aim  to  defend  my  prope'ty 
rights  if  I  have  to.  I  reelize  yuh  may  think  diffrunt 
from  me.  'You  've  got  a  right  to  prove,  if  yuh  can,  that 
all  this  ain't  mineral  land.  I  Ve  got  jest  as  much  right 
to  prove  it  is." 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      181 

He  took  a  breath  so  deep  it  expanded  visibly  his 
chest  —  a  broad,  muscular  chest  it  was  —  and  let  his 
eyes  wander  deliberately  over  his  audience. 

"  That  there  's  where  /  stand,"  he  stated,  with  arro- 
gant self-assurance.  His  mouth  drew  down  at  the 
corners  in  a  smile  which  asked  plainly  what  they  were 
going  to  do  about  it,  and  intimated  quite  as  plainly  that 
he  did  not  care  what  they  did,  though  he  might  feel  a 
certain  curiosity  as  an  onlooker. 

"  I  happen  to  know  — "  Peaceful  began,  suddenly  for 
him.  But  Baumberger  waved  him  into  silence. 

"  You  '11  have  to  prove  there  's  gold  in  paying  quan- 
tities here,"  he  stated  pompously. 

"  That 's  what  I  aim  to  do,"  Stanley  told  him  im- 
perturbably. 

"  /  proved,  over  fifteen  years  ago,  that  there  was  n't" 
Peaceful  drawled  laconically,  and  sucked  so  hard  upon 
his  pipe  that  his  cheeks  held  deep  hollows. 

Stanley  grinned  at  him.  "  Sorry  I  can't  let  it  go  at 
that,"  he  said  ironically.  "  I  reckon  I  '11  have  to  do 
some  washin'  myself,  though,  before  I  feel  satisfied 
there  ain't." 

"  Then  you  have  n't  panned  out  anything  yet  ? " 
Phoebe  caught  him  up. 

Stanley's  eyes  flickered  a  questioning  glance  at  Baum- 
berger, and  Baumberger  puffed  out  his  chest  and  said: 


182  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  The  law  won't  permit  you  to  despoil  this  man's  prop- 
erty without  good  reason.  We  can  serve  an  injunc- 
tion — " 

"  You  can  serve  and  be  darned."  Stanley's  grin  re- 
turned, wider  than  before. 

"  As  Mr.  Hart's  legal  adviser,"  Baumberger  began, 
in  the  tone  he  employed  in  the  courtroom  —  a  tone 
which  held  no  hint  of  his  wheezy  chuckle  or  his  oily 
reassurance  —  "I  hereby  demand  that  you  leave  this 
claim  which  you  have  staked  out  upon  Thomas  Hart's 
ranch,  and  protest  that  your  continued  presence  here, 
after  twenty-four  hours  have  expired,  will  be  looked 
upon  as  malicious  trespass,  and  treated  as  such." 

Stanley  still  grinned.  "  As  my  own  legal  adviser," 
he  returned  calmly,  "  I  hereby  declare  that  you  can  go 
plumb  to  fleZ-ena."  Stanley  evidently  felt  impelled  to 
adapt  his  vocabulary  to  feminine  ears,  for  he  glanced 
at  them  deprecatingly  and  as  if  he  wished  them  else- 
where. 

If  either  Stanley  or  Baumberger  had  chanced  to  look 
toward  Good  Indian,  he  might  have  wondered  why  that 
young  man  had  come,  of  a  sudden,  to  resemble  so 
strongly  his  mother's  people.  He  had  that  stoniness  of 
expression  which  betrays  strong  emotion  held  rigidly  in 
check,  with  which  his  quivering  nostrils  and  the  light 
in  his  half-shut  eyes  contrasted  strangely.  He  had 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      183 

missed  no  fleeting  glance,  no  guarded  tone,  and  he  was 
thinking  and  weighing  and  measuring  every  impression 
as  it  came  to  him.  Of  some  things  he  felt  sure;  of 
others  he  was  half  convinced;  and  there  was  more 
which  he  only  suspected.  And  all  the  while  he  stood 
there  quietly  beside  Evadna,  his  attitude  almost  that  of 
boredom. 

"  I  think,  since  you  have  been  properly  notified  to 
leave,"  said  Baumberger,  with  the  indefinable  air  of  a 
lawyer  who  gathers  up  his  papers  relating  to  one  case, 
thrusts  them  into  his  pocket,  and  turns  his  attention  to 
the  needs  of  his  next  client,  "  we  '11  just  have  it  out 
with  these  other  fellows,  though  I  look  upon  Stanley," 
he  added  half  humorously,  "  as  a  test  case.  If  he 
goes,  they  '11  all  go." 

"  Better  say  he 's  a  tough  case,"  blurted  Wally,  and 
turned  on  his  heel.  "  What  the  devil  are  they  standing 
around  on  one  foot  for,  making  medicine  ?  "  he  de- 
manded angrily  of  Good  Indian,  who  unceremoniously 
left  Evadna  and  came  up  with  him.  "  I  'd  run  him 
off  the  ranch  first,  and  do  my  talking  about  it  after- 
ward. That  hunk  uh  pork  is  kicking  up  a  lot  uh  dust, 
but  he  ain't  getting  anywhere !  " 

"  Exactly."  Good  Indian  thrust  both  hands  deep  into 
his  trousers  pockets,  and  stared  at  the  ground  before 
him. 


184  GOOD   INDIAN 

Wally  gave  another  snort.  "  I  don't  know  how  it  hits 
you,  Grant  —  but  there  's  something  fishy  about  it." 

"  Ex-actly."  Good  Indian  took  one  long  step  over 
the  ditch,  and  went  on  steadily. 

Wally,  coming  again  alongside,  turned  his  head,  and 
regarded  him  attentively. 

"  Injun  's  on  top,"  he  diagnosed  sententiously  after  a 
minute.  "  Looks  like  he  's  putting  on  a  good,  thick 
layer  uh  war-paint,  too."  He  waited  expectantly. 
"  You  might  hand  me  the  brush  when  you  're  through," 
he  hinted  grimly.  "  I  might  like  to  get  out  after  some 
scalps  myself." 

"  That  so  ? "  Good  Indian  asked  inattentively,  and 
went  on  without  waiting  for  any  reply.  They  left  the 
garden,  and  went  down  the  road  to  the  stable,  Wally 
passively  following  Grant's  lead.  Someone  came  hurry- 
ing after  them,  and  they  turned  to  see  Jack.  The  others 
had  evidently  stayed  to  hear  the  legal  harangue  to  a 
close. 

"  Say,  Stanley  says  there  's  four  beside  the  fellows 
we  saw,"  Jack  announced,  rather  breathlessly,  for  he 
had  been  running  through  the  loose,  heavy  soil  of  the 
garden  to  overtake  them.  "  They  've  located  twenty 
acres  apiece,  he  says  —  staked  'em  out  in  the  night  and 
stuck  up  their  notices  —  and  everyone  's  going  to  stick. 
They  're  all  going  to  put  in  grizzlies  and  mine  the 


THE    CLAIM-JUMPERS      185 

whole  thing,  he  told  dad.  He  just  the  same  as  accused 
dad  right  out  of  covering  up  valuable  mineral  land  on 
purpose.  And  he  says  the  law 's  all  on  their  side." 
He  leaned  hard  against  the  stable,  and  drew  his  fingers 
across  his  forehead,  white  as  a  girl's  when  he  pushed 
back  his  hat.  "  Baumberger,"  he  said  cheerlessly, 
"  was  still  talking  injunction  when  I  left,  but  — "  He 
flung  out  his  hand  contemptuously. 

"  I  wish  dad  was  n't  so  — "  began  Wally  moodily,  and 
let  it  go  at  that. 

Good  Indian  threw  up  his  head  with  that  peculiar 
tightening  of  lips  which  meant  much  in  the  way  of 
emotion. 

"  He  '11  listen  to  Baumberger,  and  he  '11  lose  the 
ranch  listening,"  he  stated  distinctly.  "  If  there  's  any- 
thing to  do,  we  've  got  to  do  it." 

"  We  can  run  'em  off  —  maybe,"  suggested  Jack,  his 
fighting  instincts  steadied  by  the  vivid  memory  of  four 
rifles  held  by  four  men,  who  looked  thoroughly  capable 
of  using  them. 

"  This  is  n't  a  case  of  apple-stealing,"  Good  Indian 
quelled  sharply,  and  got  his  rope  from  his  saddle  with 
the  manner  of  a  man  who  has  definitely  made  up  his 
mind. 

"  What  can  we  do,  then  ? "  Wally  demanded  impa- 
tiently. 


186  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  Not  a  thing  at  present."  Good  Indian  started  for 
the  little  pasture,  where  Keno  was  feeding  and  switch- 
ing methodically  at  the  flies.  "  You  fellows  can  do 
more  by  doing  nothing  to-day  than  if  you  killed  off  the 
whole  bunch." 

He  came  back  in  a  few  minutes  with  his  horse,  and 
found  the  two  still  moodily  discussing  the  thing.  He 
glanced  at  them  casually,  and  went  about  the  business 
of  saddling. 

"  Where  you  going  ? "  asked  Wally  abruptly,  when 
Grant  was  looping  up  the  end  of  his  latigo. 

"  Just  scouting  around  a  little,"  was  the  unsatisfac- 
tory reply  he  got,  and  he  scowled  as  Good  Indian  rode 
away. 


CHAPTER  XV 

SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    HEAP    SMART 

GOOD  INDIAN"  spoke  briefly  with  the  good-look- 
ing young  squaw,  who  had  a  shy  glance  for  him 
when  he  came  up ;  afterward  he  took  hold  of  his  hat  by 
the  brim,  and  ducked  through  the  low  opening  of  a 
wikiup  which  she  smilingly  pointed  out  to  him. 

"  Howdy,  Peppajee  ?  How  you  foot  ?  "  he  asked, 
when  his  unaccustomed  eyes  discerned  the  old  fellow 
lying  back  against  the  farther  wall. 

"  Huh !  Him  heap  sick  all  time."  Having  his  injury 
thus  brought  afresh  to  his  notice,  Peppajee  reached 
down  with  his  hands,  and  moved  the  foot  carefully  to 
a  new  position. 

"  Last  night,"  Good  Indian  began  without  that  cere- 
mony of  long  waiting  which  is  a  part  of  Indian  etiquette, 
"  much  men  come  to  Hart  ranch.  Eight."  He  held  up 
his  two  outspread  hands,  with  the  thumbs  tucked  inside 
his  palms.  "  Come  in  dark,  no  seeum  till  sun  come 
back.  Makeum  camp.  One  man  put  sticks  in  ground, 
say  that  part  belong  him.  Twenty  acres."  He  flung 
up  his  hands,  lowered  them,  and  immediately  raised 
them  again.  "  Eight  men  do  that  all  same.  Have 


188  GOOD   INDIAN 

guns,  grub,  blankets  —  stop  there  all  time.  Say  they 
wash  gold.  Say  that  ranch  have  much  gold,  Make 
placer  claims.  Baumberger  "  —  he  saw  Peppajee's  eye- 
lids draw  together  — "  tell  men  to  go  away.  Tell 
Peaceful  he  fight  those  men  —  in  court.  You  sabe? 
Ask  Great  Father  to  tell  those  men  they  go  away,  no 
wash  gold  on  ranch."  He  waited. 

There  is  no  hurrying  the  speech  of  an  Indian.  Pep- 
pajee  smoked  stolidly,  his  eyes  half  closed  and  blinking 
sleepily.  The  veneer  of  white  men's  ways  dropped  from 
him  when  he  entered  his  own  wikiup,  and  he  would  not 
speak  quickly. 

"  Las'  night  —  mebbyso  yo'  watchum  ?  "  he  asked,  as 
one  who  holds  his  judgment  in  abeyance. 

"  I  heap  fool.  I  no  watch.  I  let  those  men  come 
while  I  think  of  —  a  girl.  My  eyes  sleep."  Good  In- 
dian was  too  proud  to  parry,  too  bitter  with  himself  to 
deny.  He  had  not  said  the  thing  before,  even  to  him- 
self, but  it  was  in  his  heart  to  hate  his  love,  because  it 
had  cost  this  catastrophe  to  his  friends. 

"Kay  bueno"  Peppajee's  voice  was  harsh.  But 
after  a  time  he  spoke  more  sympathetically.  "  Yo'  no 
watchum.  Yo'  let  heap  trouble  come.  This  day  yo' 
heart  bad,  mebbyso  ?  This  day  yo'  no  thinkum  squaw 
all  time.  Mebbyso  yo'  thinkum  fight,  no  sabe  how  yo' 
fight." 


SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    189 

Grant  nodded  silently.  It  would  seem  that  Peppajee 
understood,  even  though  his  speech  was  halting.  At 
that  moment  much  of  the  unfounded  prejudice,  which 
had  been  for  a  few  days  set  aside  because  of  bigger 
things,  died  within  him.  He  had  disliked  Peppajee  as 
a  pompous  egotist  among  his  kind.  His  latent  an- 
tagonism against  all  Indians  because  they  were  unwel- 
comely  his  blood  relatives  had  crystallized  here  and 
there  against  certain  individuals  of  the  tribe.  Old 
Hagar  he  hated  coldly.  Peppajee's  staginess  irritated 
him.  In  his  youthful  arrogance  he  had  not  troubled  to 
see  the  real  man  of  mettle  under  that  dingy  green 
blanket.  Now  he  looked  at  Peppajee  with  a  startled 
sense  that  he  had  never  known  him  at  all,  and  that  Pep- 
pajee was  not  only  a  grimy  Indian  —  he  was  also  a 
man. 

"  Me  no  sabe  one  thing.  One  otha  thing  me  sdbe. 
Yo'  no  b'lieve  Baumberga  one  frien'.  Him  all  same 
snake.  Them  mens  come,  Baumberga  tellum  come  all 
time.  All  time  him  try  for  foolum  Peaceful.  Yo'  look 
out.  Yo'  no  sleepum  mo'.  All  time  yo'  watchum." 

"  I  come  here,"  said  Good  Indian ;  "  I  think  you 
mebbyso  hear  talk,  you  tell  me.  My  heart  heap  sad, 
I  let  this  trouble  come.  I  want  to  kill  that  trouble. 
Mebbyso  make  my  friends  laugh,  be  heap  glad  those 
men  no  stealum  ranch.  You  hear  talk,  mebbyso  you  tell 
me  now." 


190  GOOD    INDIAN 

Peppajee  smoked  imperturbably  what  time  his  dig- 
nity demanded.  At  length  he  took  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  stretched  out  his  arm  toward  Hartley,  and  spoke 
in  his  sonorous  tone,  calculated  to  add  weight  to  his 
words. 

"  Yo'  go  speakum  Squaw-talk-far-off,"  he  commanded. 
"  All  time  makum  talk-talk  — "  He  drummed  with  his 
fingers  upon  his  left  forearm.  "  Mebbyso  heap  sabe. 
Heap  sabe  Baumberga  kay  bueno.  Me  thinkum  sabe 
stealum  ranch.  All  time  heap  talk  come  Man-that- 
coughs,  come  all  same  Baumberga.  Heap  smart,  dat 
squaw."  A  smile  laid  its  faint  light  upon  his  grim  old 
lips,  and  was  gone.  "  Thinkum  yo'  heap  bueno  —  dat 
squaw.  All  time  glad  for  talkum  yo'.  Yo'  go." 

Good  Indian  stood  up,  his  head  bent  to  avoid  scrap- 
ing his  hat  against  the  sloping  roof  of  the  wikiup. 

"  You  no  hear  more  talk  all  time  you  watch  ?  "  he 
asked,  passing  over  Miss  Georgie's  possible  aid  or  inter- 
est in  the  affair. 

"  Much  talkum  —  no  can  hear.  All  time  them  damn' 
Baumberga  shut  door  —  no  talkum  loud.  All  time 
Baumberga  walkum  in  dark.  Walkum  where  apples 
grow,  walkum  grass,  walkum  all  dat  ranch  all  time.  All 
time  me  heap  watchum.  Snake  come,  bitum  foot  —  no 
can  watchum  mo'.  Dat  time,  much  mens  come.  Yo' 
sabe?  Baumberga  all  time  talkum,  him  heap  frien' 


SQUAW- TALK-FAR- OFF    191 

Peacef u' —  heap  snake  all  time.  Speakum  two  tongue. 
Yo'  no  b'lievum.  All  time  heap  big  liar,  him.  Yo' 
go,  speakum  Squaw-talk-far-off.  Bueno,  dat  squaw. 
Heap  smart,  all  same  mans.  Yo'  go.  Pikeway."  He 
settled  back  with  a  gesture  of  finality,  and  so  Good  In- 
dian left  him. 

Old  Hagar  shrilled  maledictions  after  him  when  he 
passed  through  the  littered  camp  on  his  way  back  to 
where  he  had  left  his  horse,  but  for  once  he  was  deaf 
to  her  upbraidings.  Indeed,  he  never  heard  her  —  or 
if  he  did,  her  clamor  was  to  him  as  the  yelping  of  the 
dogs  which  filled  his  ears,  but  did  not  enter  his  thoughts. 

The  young  squaw  smiled  at  him  shy-eyed  as  he  went 
by  her,  and  though  his  physical  eyes  saw  her  standing 
demurely  there  in  the  shade  of  her  wikiup,  ready  to 
shrink  coyly  away  from  too  bold  a  glance,  the  man-mind 
of  him  was  blind  and  took  no  notice.  He  neither  heard 
the  baffled  screaming  of  vile  epithets  when  old  Hagar 
knew  that  her  venom  could  not  strike  through  the  armor 
of  his  preoccupation,  nor  saw  the  hurt  look  creep  into 
the  soft  eyes  of  the  young  squaw  when  his  face  did  not 
turn  toward  her  after  the  first  inattentive  glance. 

Good  Indian  was  thinking  how  barren  had  been 
his  talk  with  Peppajee,  and  was  realizing  keenly  how 
much  he  had  expected  from  the  interview.  It  is  fre- 
quently by  the  depth  of  our  disappointment  only  that 


192  GOOD    INDIAN 

we  can  rightly  measure  the  height  of  our  hope.  He 
had  come  to  Peppajee  for  something  tangible,  some- 
thing that  might  be  called  real  evidence  of  the  con- 
spiracy he  suspected.  He  had  got  nothing  but  suspicion 
to  match  his  own.  As  for  Miss  Georgie  Howard  — 

"  What  can  she  do  ? "  he  thought  resentfully,  feel- 
ing as  if  he  had  been  offered  a  willow  switch  with  which 
to  fight  off  a  grizzly.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  might 
as  sensibly  go  to  Evadna  herself  for  assistance,  and 
that,  even  his  infatuation  was  obliged  to  admit,  would 
be  idiotic.  Peppajee,  he  told  himself  when  he  reached 
his  horse,  was  particularly  foolish  sometimes. 

With  that  in  his  mind,  he  mounted  —  and  turned 
Keno's  head  toward  Hartley.  The  distance  was  not 
great  —  little  more  than  half  a  mile  —  but  when  he 
swung  from  the  saddle  in  the  square  blotch  of  shade 
cast  by  the  little,  red  station  house  upon  the  parched 
sand  and  cinders,  Keno's  flanks  were  heaving  like  the 
silent  sobbing  of  a  woman  with  the  pace  his  master's 
spurred  heels  had  required  of  him. 

Miss  Georgie  gave  her  hair  a  hasty  pat  or  two,  pushed 
a  novel  out  of  sight  under  a  Boise  newspaper,  and 
turned  toward  him  with  a  breezily  careless  smile  when 
he  stepped  up  to  the  open  door  and  stopped  as  if  he  were 
not  quite  certain  of  his  own  mind,  or  of  his  welcome. 

He  was  secretly  thinking  of  Peppajee's  information 


SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    193 

that  Miss  Georgia  thought  he  was  "  bueno"  and  he  was 
wondering  if  it  were  true.  Not  that  he  wanted  it  to 
be  true!  But  he  was  man  enough  to  look  at  her  with  a 
keener  interest  than  he  had  felt  before.  And  Miss 
Georgie,  if  one  might  judge  by  her  manner,  was  woman 
enough  to  detect  that  interest  and  to  draw  back  her 
skirts,  mentally,  ready  for  instant  flight  into  unap- 
proachableness. 

"  Howdy,  Mr.  Imsen  ? "  she  greeted  him  lightly. 
"  In  what  official  capacity  am  I  to  receive  you,  please  ? 
Do  you  want  to  send  a  telegram  ? "  The  accent  upon 
the  pronoun  was  very  faint,  but  it  was  there  for  him  to 
notice  if  he  liked.  So  much  she  helped  him.  She 
was  a  bright  young  woman  indeed,  that  she  saw  he 
wanted  help. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  came  to  see  you  officially  at  all," 
he  said,  and  his  eyes  lighted  a  little  as  he  looked  at 
her.  "  Peppajee  Jim  told  me  to  come.  He  said  you  're 
a  '  heap  smart  squaw,  all  same  mans.' ' 

"  Item :  One  pound  of  red-and-white  candy  for  Pep- 
pajee Jim  next  time  I  see  him."  Miss  Georgie  laughed 
—  but  she  also  sat  down  so  that  her  face  was  turned  to 
the  window.  "  Are  you  in  urgent  need  of  a  heap  smart 
squaw  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  thought " —  she  caught  her- 
self up,  and  then  went  recklessly  on  —  "I  thought  yes- 
terday that  you  had  found  one  1 " 


194  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  It 's  brains  I  need  just  now."  After  the  words  were 
out,  Good  Indian  wanted  to  swear  at  himself  for  seem- 
ing to  belittle  Evadna.  "  I  mean,"  he  corrected 
quickly  —  "  do  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  I  '11  tell  you 
what  has  happened,  and  if  you  don't  know  then,  and 
can't  help  me,  I'll  just  have  to  apologize  for  coming, 
and  get  out." 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  had  better  tell  me  why  you  need 
me  particularly.  I  know  the  chicken 's  perfect,  and 
does  n't  lack  brains,  and  you  did  n't  mean  that  she  does. 
You  're  all  stirred  up  over  something.  What 's 
wrong  ?  "  Miss  Georgie  would  have  spoken  in  just 
that  tone  if  she  had  been  a  man  or  if  Grant  had  been 
a  woman. 

So  Good  Indian  told  her. 

"  And  you  imagine  that  it 's  partly  your  fault,  and 
that  it  would  n't  have  happened  if  you  had  spent  more 
time  keeping  your  weather  eye  open,  and  not  so  much 
making  love  ?  "  Miss  Georgie  could  be  very  blunt,  as 
well  as  keen.  "  Well,  I  don't  see  how  you  could  pre- 
vent it,  or  what  you  could  have  done  —  unless  you  had 
kicked  old  Baumberger  into  the  Snake.  He  's  the  god 
in  this  machine.  I  'd  swear  to  that." 

Good  Indian  had  been  fiddling  with  his  hat  and  star- 
ing hard  at  a  pile  of  old  ties  just  outside  the  window. 
He  raised  his  head,  and  regarded  her  steadily.  It 


SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    195 

was  beginning  to  occur  to  him  that  there  was  a  good  deal 
to  this  Miss  Georgie,  under  that  offhand,  breezy  ex- 
terior. He  felt  himself  drawn  to  her  as  a  person  whom 
he  could  trust  implicitly. 

"  You  're  right  as  far  as  I  'm  concerned,"  he  owned, 
with  his  queer,  inscrutable  smile.  "  I  think  you  're  also 
right  about  him.  What  makes  you  think  so,  anyway  ?  " 

Miss  Georgie  twirled  a  ring  upon  her  middle  finger 
for  a  moment  before  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  mining  laws  ?  "  she 
asked,  and  when  he  swung  his  head  slightly  to  one  side 
in  a  tacit  negative,  she  went  on :  "  You  say  there  are 
eight  jumpers.  Concerted  action,  that.  Premeditated. 
My  daddy  was  a  lawyer,"  she  threw  in  by  way  of  ex- 
planation. "  I  used  to  help  him  in  the  office  a  good  deal. 
When  he  —  died,  I  did  n't  know  enough  to  go  on  and  be 
a  lawyer  myself,  so  I  took  to  this."  She  waved  her 
hand  impatiently  toward  the  telegraph  instrument. 

"  So  it 's  like  this :  Eight  men  can  take  placer  claims 
—  can  hold  them,  you  know  —  for  one  man.  That 's 
the  limit,  a  hundred  and  sixty  acres.  Those  eight  men 
are  n't  jumping  that  ranch  as  eight  individuals ;  they  're 
in  the  employ  of  a  principal  who  is  engineering  the 
affair.  If  I  were  going  to  shy  a  pebble  at  the  head 
mogul,  I  'd  sure  try  hard  to  hit  our  corpulent  friend  with 
the  fishy  eye.  And  that,"  she  added,  "  is  what  all  these 


196  GOOD    INDIAN 

cipher  messages  for  Saunders  mean,  very  likely.  Baum- 
berger  had  to  have  someone  here  to  spy  around  for  him 
and  perhaps  help  him  choose  —  or  at  least  get  together 
—  those  eight  men.  They  must  have  come  in  on  the 
night  train,  for  I  did  n't  see  them.  I  '11  bet  they  're 
tough  customers,  every  mother's  son  of  them !  Fighters 
down  to  the  ground,  are  n't  they  ?  " 

"  I  only  saw  four.  They  were  heeled,  and  ready  for 
business,  all  right,"  he  told  her.  "  Soon  as  I  saw  what 
the  game  was,  and  that  Baumberger  was  only  playing 
for  time  and  a  free  hand,  I  pulled  out.  I  thought  Pep- 
pajee  might  give  me  something  definite  to  go  on.  He 
could  n't,  though." 

"  Baumberger  's  going  to  steal  that  ranch  according 
to  law,  you  see,"  Miss  Georgie  stated  with  conviction. 
"  They  've  got  to  pan  out  a  sample  of  gold  to  prove 
there  's  pay  dirt  there,  before  they  can  file  their  claims. 
And  they  've  got  to  do  their  filing  in  Shoshone.  I 
suppose  their  notices  are  up  O.  K.  I  wonder,  now,  how 
they  intend  to  manage  that?  I  believe,"  she  mused, 
"  they  '11  have  to  go  in  person  —  I  don't  believe  Baum- 
berger can  do  that  all  himself  legally.  I  've  got  some 
of  daddy's  law-books  over  in  my  trunk,  and  maybe  I 
can  look  it  up  and  make  sure.  But  I  know  they  have  n't 
filed  their  claims  yet.  They  've  got  to  take  possession 
first,  and  they  've  got  to  show  a  sample  of  ore  —  or 


SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    197 

dust,  it  would  be  in  this  case.  The  best  thing  to  do  — " 
She  drew  her  eyebrows  together,  and  she  pinched  her 
under  lip  between  her  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  she 
stared  abstractedly  at  Good  Indian.  "  Oh,  hurry  up, 
Grant !  "  she  cried  unguardedly.  "  Think  —  think 
hard,  what 's  best  to  do !  " 

"  The  only  thing  I  can  think  of,"  he  scowled,  "  is  to 
kill  that—" 

"  And  that  won't  do,  under  the  circumstances,"  she 
cut  in  airily.  "  There  M  still  be  the  eight.  I'd  like," 
she  declared  viciously,  "  to  put  rough-on-rats  in  his  din- 
ner, but  I  intend  to  refrain  from  doing  as  I  'd  like,  and 
stick  to  what 's  best." 

Good  Indian  gave  her  a  glance  of  grateful  understand- 
ing. "  This  thing  has  hit  me  hard,"  he  confided  sud- 
denly. "  I  've  been  holding  myself  in  all  day.  The 
Harts  are  like  my  own  folks.  They  're  all  I  've  had, 
and  she  's  been  —  they  've  all  been  — "  Then  the  in- 
stinct of  repression  walled  in  his  emotion,  and  he  let 
the  rest  go  in  a  long  breath  which  told  Miss  Georgie 
all  she  needed  to  know.  So  much  of  Good  Indian  would 
never  find  expression  in  speech ;  all  that  was  best  of  him 
would  not,  one  might  be  tempted  to  tbink. 

"  By  the  way,  is  there  any  pay  dirt  on  that  ranch  ?  " 
Miss  Georgie  kept  herself  rigidly  to  the  main  subject. 

"  No,  there  is  n't.    Not,"  he  added  dryly,  "  unless  it 


198  GOOD    INDIAN 

has  grown  gold  in  the  last  few  years.  There  are  colors, 
of  course.  All  this  country  practically  can  show  colors, 
but  pay  dirt?  No!" 

"  Look  out,"  she  advised  him  slowly,  "  that  pay  dirt 
does  n't  grow  over  night !  Sabe  ?  " 

Good  Indian's  eyes  spoke  admiration  of  her  shrewd- 
ness. 

"  I  must  be  getting  stupid,  not  to  have  thought  of 
that,"  he  said. 

"  Can't  give  me  credit  for  being  '  heap  smart '  ?  "  she 
bantered.  "  Can't  even  let  me  believe  I  thought  of 
something  beyond  the  ken  of  the  average  person  ?  Not," 
she  amended  ironically,  "  that  I  consider  you  an  aver- 
age person !  Would  you  mind  "  —  she  became  sud- 
denly matter  of  fact  —  "  waiting  here  while  I  go  and 
rummage  for  a  book  I  want  ?  I  'm  almost  sure  I  have 
one  on  mining  laws.  Daddy  had  a  good  deal  of  that  in 
his  business,  being  in  a  mining  country.  We  've  got  to 
know  just  where  we  stand,  it  seems  to  me,  because 
Baumberger  's  going  to  use  the  laws  himself,  and  it 's 
with  the  law  we  've  got  to  fight  him." 

She  had  to  go  first  and  put  a  stop  to  the  hysterical 
chattering  of  the  sounder  by  answering  the  summons. 
It  proved  to  be  a  message  for  Baumberger,  and  she 
wrote  it  down  in  a  spiteful  scribble  which  left  it  barely 
legible. 


SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    199 

"  Betraying  professional  secrets,  but  I  don't  care," 
she  exclaimed,  turning  swiftly  toward  him.  "  Listen  to 
this: 

"  ' How 's  fishing  ?  Landed  the  big  one  yet  ?  Keady 
for  fry?'" 

She  threw  it  down  upon  the  table  with  a  pettish 
gesture  that  was  wholly  feminine.  "  Sounds  perfectly 
innocent,  does  n't  it  ?  Too  perfectly  innocent,  if  you 
ask  me."  She  stared  out  of  the  window  abstractedly, 
her  brows  pinched  together  and  her  lips  pursed  with  a 
corner  between  her  teeth,  much  as  she  had  stared  after 
Baumberger  the  day  before;  and  when  she  spoke  she 
seemed  to  have  swung  her  memory  back  to  him  then. 

"  He  came  up  yesterday  —  with  fish  for  Pete,  he 
said,  and  of  course  he  really  did  have  some  —  and  sent 
a  wire  to  Shoshone.  I  found  it  on  file  when  I  came 
back.  That  was  perfectly  innocent,  too.  It  was: 

"  '  Expect  to  land  big  one  to-night.  Plenty  of  small 
fry.  Smooth  trail.' 

"  I  've  an  excellent  memory,  you  see."  She  laughed 
shortly.  "  Well,  I  '11  go  and  hunt  up  that  book,  and 
we  '11  proceed  to  glean  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent,  so 
that  we  won't  be  compelled  to  remain  as  harmless  as  the 
dove !  You  won't  mind  waiting  here  ?  " 


200  GOOD    INDIAN 

He  assured  her  that  he  would  not  mind  in  the  least, 
and  she  ran  out  bareheaded  into  the  hot  sunlight.  Good 
Indian  leaned  forward  a  little  in  his  chair  so  that  he 
could  watch  her  running  across  to  the  shack  where  she 
had  a  room  or  two,  and  he  paid  her  the  compliment  of 
keeping  her  in  his  thoughts  all  the  time  she  was  gone. 
He  felt,  as  he  had  done  with  Peppajee,  that  he  had  not 
known  Miss  Georgie  at  all  until  to-day,  and  he  was  a 
bit  startled  at  what  he  was  finding  her  to  be. 

"  Of  course,"  she  laughed,  when  she  rustled  in  again 
like  a  whiff  of  fresh  air,  "  I  had  to  go  clear  to  the 
bottom  of  the  last  trunk  I  looked  in.  Lucky  I  only  have 
three  to  my  name,  for  it  would  have  been  in  the  last  one 
just  the  same,  if  I'd  had  two  dozen  and  had  ransacked 
them  all.  But  I  found  it,  thank  Heaven ! " 

She  came  eagerly  up  to  him  —  he  was  sitting  in  the 
beribboned  rocker  dedicated  to  friendly  callers,  and  had 
the  rug  badly  rumpled  with  his  spurs,  which  he  had 
forgotten  to  remove  —  and  with  a  sweep  of  her  fore- 
arm she  cleared  the  little  table  of  novel,  newspaper,  and 
a  magazine  and  deck  of  cards,  and  barely  saved  her  box 
of  chocolates  from  going  bottom  up  on  the  floor. 

"  Like  candy  ?  Help  yourself,  if  you  do,"  she  said, 
and  tucked  a  piece  into  her  mouth  absent-mindedly 
before  she  laid  the  leather-bound  book  open  on  the 
table.  "  Now,  we  '11  see  what  information  Mr.  Copp 


SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    201 

can  give  us.  He  's  a  high  authority  —  General  Land- 
office  Commissioner,  if  you  please.  He  's  a  few  years 
old  —  several  years  old,  for  that  matter  —  but  I  don't 
think  he  's  out  of  date ;  I  believe  what  he  says  still  goes. 
M-m-m !  —  l  Liens  on  Mines  ' — i  Clause  Inserted  in 
Patents '— <  Affidavits  Taken  Without  Notice  to  Op- 
posing ' —  oh,  it  must  be  here  —  it 's  got  to  be  here !  " 

She  was  running  a  somewhat  sticky  forefinger  slowly 
down  the  index  pages.  "  It  is  n't  alphabetically  ar- 
ranged, which  I  consider  sloppy  of  Mr.  Copp.  Ah-h! 
(  Minerals  Discovered  After  Patent  Has  Issued  to  Agri- 
cultural Claimant ' —  two  hundred  and  eight.  We  '11 
just  take  a  look  at  that  first.  That 's  what  they  're  claim- 
ing, you  know."  She  hitched  her  chair  closer,  and  flipped 
the  leaves  eagerly.  When  she  found  the  page,  they 
touched  heads  over  it,  though  Miss  Georgie  read  aloud. 

"  Oh,  it 's  a  letter  —  but  it 's  a  decision,  and  as  such 
has  weight.  Um-m! 

"  SIB  :  In  reply  to  your  letter  of  inquiry  ...  I  have  to  state 
that  all  mineral  deposits  discovered  on  land  after  United  States 
Patent  therefor  has  issued  to  a  party  claiming  under  the  laws 
regulating  the  disposal  of  agricultural  lands,  pass  with  the 
patent,  and  this  office  has  no  further  jurisdiction  in  the  premises. 
Very  respectfully, 

r '  Pass  with  the  patent!'  "  Miss  Georgie  turned  her 
face  so  that  she  could  look  into  Grant's  eyes,  so  close 
to  her  own.  "  Old  Peaceful  must  surely  have  his 


202  GOOD    INDIAN 

patent  —  Baumberger  can't  be  much  of  a  lawyer,  do 
you  think  ?  Because  that 's  a  flat  statement.  There  's 
no  chance  for  any  legal  quibbling  in  that  —  is  there  ?  " 

"  That 's  about  as  straight  as  he  could  put  it,"  Good 
Indian  agreed,  his  face  losing  a  little  of  its  anxiety. 

"  Well,  we  '11  just  browse  along  for  more  of  the 
same,"  she  suggested  cheerfully,  and  went  back  to  the 
index.  But  first  she  drew  a  lead  pencil  from  where 
it  had  been  stabbed  through  her  hair,  and  marked  the 
letter  with  heavy  brackets,  wetting  the  lead  on  her 
tongue  for  emphasis. 

" '  Agricultural  Claimants  Entitled  to  Full  Protec- 
tion,' "  she  read  hearteningly  from  the  index,  and  turned 
hastily  to  see  what  was  to  be  said  about  it.  It  hap- 
pened to  be  another  decision  rendered  in  a  letter,  and 
they  jubilated  together  over  the  sentiment  conveyed 
therein. 

"  Now,  here  is  what  I  was  telling  you,  Grant,"  she 
said  suddenly,  after  another  long  minute  of  studying 
silently  the  index.  "  '  Eight  Locaters  of  Placer  Ground 
May  Convey  to  One  Party  ' —  and  Baumberger  's  cer- 
tainly that  party !  —  '  Who  Can  Secure  Patent  for  One 
Hundred  and  Sixty  Acres.'  We  '11  just  read  up  on  that, 
and  find  out  for  sure  what  the  conditions  are.  Now, 
here  " —  she  had  found  the  page  quickly  — "  listen  to 
this: 


SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    203 

"'I   have   to   state   that   if   eight   bona-fide   locaters ' 
( "  Whether  they  're  that  remains  to   be   proven,  Mr. 
Baumberger ! ") 

« each  having  located  twenty  acres,  in  accordance  with  the  con- 
gressional rules  and  regulations,  should  convey  all  their  right, 
title,  and  interest  in  said  locations  to  one  person,  such  person 
might  apply  for  a  patent — ' 

"  And  so  on  into  tiresomeness.  Really,  I  'm  begin- 
ning to  think  Baumberger  's  awfully  stupid,  to  even 
attempt  such  a  silly  thing.  He  has  n't  a  legal  leg  to 
stand  on.  '  Goes  with  the  patent ' — that  sounds  nice  to 
me.  They  're  not  locating  in  good  faith  —  those  eight 
jumpers  down  there."  She  fortified  herself  with  an- 
other piece  of  candy.  "  All  you  need,"  she  declared 
briskly,  "  is  a  good  lawyer  to  take  this  up  and  see  it 
through." 

"  You  seem  to  be  doing  pretty  well,"  he  remarked, 
his  eyes  dwelling  rather  intently  upon  her  face,  and 
smiling  as  they  did  so. 

"  I  can  read  what 's  in  the  book,"  she  remarked 
lightly,  her  eyes  upon  its  pages  as  if  she  were  con- 
sciously holding  them  from  meeting  his  look.  "  But  it 
will  take  a  lawyer  to  see  the  case  through  the  courts. 
And  let  me  tell  you  one  thing  very  emphatically."  She 
looked  at  him  briefly.  "  Many  a  case  as  strong  as  this 
has  been  lost,  just  by  legal  quibbling  and  ignorance  of 
how  to  handle  it  properly.  Many  a  case  without  a  leg 


204 

to  stand  on  has  been  won,  by  smooth  work  on  the  part 
of  some  lawyer.  Now,  I  '11  just  jot  down  what  they  '11 
have  to  do,  and  prove,  if  they  get  that  land  —  and  look 
here,  Mr.  Man,  here  's  another  thing  to  consider.  Maybe 
Baumberger  does  n't  expect  to  get  a  patent.  Maybe  he 
means  to  make  old  Peaceful  so  deucedly  sick  of  the  thing 
that  he  '11  sell  out  cheap  rather  than  fight  the  thing  to 
a  finish.  Because  this  can  be  appealed,  and  taken  up 
and  up,  and  reopened  because  of  some  technical  error 
—  oh,  as  Jenny  Wren  says  in  —  in  — " 

" '  Our  Mutual  Friend  ? '  '  Good  Indian  suggested 
unexpectedly. 

"  Oh,  you  've  read  it !  —  where  she  always  says :  '  I 
know  their  tricks  and  their  manners ! '  And  I  do,  from 
being  so  much  with  daddy  in  the  office  and  hearing  him 
talk  shop.  I  know  that,  without  a  single  bit  of  justice 
on  their  side,  they  could  carry  this  case  along  till  the 
very  expense  of  it  would  eat  up  the  ranch  and  leave 
the  Harts  flat  broke.  And  if  they  did  n't  fight  and  keep 
on  fighting,  they  could  lose  it  —  so  there  you  are." 

She  shut  the  book  with  a  slam.  "  But,"  she  added 
more  brightly  when  she  saw  the  cloud  of  gloom  settle 
blacker  than  before  on  his  face,  and  remembered  that 
he  felt  himself  at  least  partly  to  blame,  "  it  helps  a 
lot  to  have  the  law  all  on  our  side,  and  — "  She  had  to 
go  then,  because  the  dispatcher  was  calling,  and  she 


SQUAW-TALK-FAR-OFF    205 

knew  it  must  be  a  train  order.  "  We  '11  read  up  a  little 
more,  and  see  just  what  are  the  requirements  of  placer 
mining  laws  —  and  maybe  we  can  make  it  a  trifle  diffi- 
cult for  those  eight  to  comply !  "  she  told  him  over  her 
shoulder,  while  her  fingers  chittered  a  reply  to  the 
call,  and  then  turned  her  attention  wholly  to  receiving 
the  message. 

Good  Indian,  knowing  well  the  easy  custom  of  the 
country  which  makes  smoking  always  permissible,  rolled 
himself  a  cigarette  while  he  waited  for  her  to  come  back 
to  his  side  of  the  room.  He  was  just  holding  the 
match  up  and  waiting  for  a  clear  blaze  before  setting 
his  tobacco  afire,  when  came  a  tap-tap  of  feet  on  the 
platform,  and  Evadna  appeared  in  the  half-open  door- 
way. 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  widened  her  indigo  eyes 
at  him  sitting  there  and  looking  so  much  at  home. 

"  Come  right  in,  chicken,"  Miss  Georgie  invited 
cordially.  "  Don't  stand  there  in  the  hot  sun.  Mr. 
Imsen  is  going  to  turn  the  seat  of  honor  over  to  you 
this  instant.  Awfully  glad  you  came.  Have  some 
candy." 

Evadna  sat  down  in  the  rocker,  thrust  her  two  little 
feet  out  so  that  the  toes  of  her  shoes  showed  close  to- 
gether beyond  the  hem  of  her  riding-skirt,  laid  her 
gauntleted  palms  upon  the  arms  of  the  chair  and  rocked 


206  GOOD    INDIAN 

methodically,  and  looked  at  Grant  and  then  at  Miss 
Georgie,  and  afterward  tilted  up  her  chin  and  smiled 
superciliously  at  an  insurance  company's  latest  offering 
to  the  public  in  the  way  of  a  calendar  two  feet  long. 

"  When  did  you  come  up  ? "  Good  Indian  asked  her, 
trying  so  hard  to  keep  a  placating  note  out  of  his  voice 
that  he  made  himself  sound  apologetic. 

"  Oh  —  about  an  hour  ago,  I  think,"  Evadna  drawled 
sweetly  —  the  sweet  tones  which  always  mean  trouble, 
when  employed  by  a  woman. 

Good  Indian  bit  his  lip,  got  up,  and  threw  his 
cigarette  out  of  the  window,  and  looked  at  her  re- 
proachfully, and  felt  vaguely  that  he  was  misunder- 
stood and  most  unjustly  placed  upon  the  defensive. 

"  I  only  came  over,"  Evadna  went  on,  as  sweetly  as 
before,  "  to  say  that  there  's  a  package  at  the  store  which 
I  can't  very  well  carry,  and  I  thought  perhaps  you 
would  n't  mind  taking  it  —  when  you  go." 

"  I  'm  going  now,  if  you  're  ready,"  he  told  her 
shortly,  and  reached  for  his  hat. 

Evadna  rocked  a  moment  longer,  making  him 
wait  for  her  reply.  She  glanced  at  Miss  Georgie  still 
busy  at  the  telegraph  table,  gave  a  little  sigh  of  resigna- 
tion, and  rose  with  evident  reluctance. 

"Oh  —  if  you  're  really  going,"  she  drawled,  and 
followed  him  outside. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"  DON'T  GET  EXCITED  !  " 

ETERS,  it  would  seem,  require  much  less  material 
for  a  quarrel  than  persons  in  a  less  exalted  frame 
of  mind. 

Good  Indian  believed  himself  very  much  in  love  with 
his  Christmas  angel,  and  was  very  much  inclined  to  let 
her  know  it,  but  at  the  same  time  he  saw  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  sit  down  in  Miss  Georgie's  rocking- 
chair,  if  he  liked,  and  he  could  not  quite  bring  him- 
self to  explain  even  to  Evadna  his  reason  for  doing  so. 
It  humiliated  him  even  to  think  of  apologizing  or  ex- 
plaining, and  he  was  the  type  of  man  who  resents 
humiliation  more  keenly  than  a  direct  ijo/ary. 

As  to  Evadna,  her  atmosphere  was  that  of  conscious 
and  magnanimous  superiority  to  any  feeling  so  humanly 
petty  as  jealousy  —  which  is  extremely  irritating  to 
anyone  who  is  at  all  sensitive  to  atmospheric  condi- 
tions. 

She  stopped  outside  the  window  long  enough  to  chirp 
a  commonplace  sentence  or  two  to  Miss  Georgie,  and  to 
explain  just  why  she  could  n't  stay  a  minute  longer. 

"  I  told  Aunt  Phoebe  I  'd  be  back  to  lunch  —  din- 


208  GOOD    INDIAN 

ner,  I  mean  —  and  she  's  so  upset  over  those  horrible 
men  planted  in  the  orchard  —  did  Grant  tell  you  about 
it  ?  —  that  I  feel  I  ought  to  be  with  her.  And  Marie  has 
the  toothache  again.  So  I  really  must  go.  Good-by  — 
come  down  whenever  you  can,  won't  you  ?  "  She  smiled, 
and  she  waved  a  hand,  and  she  held  up  her  riding-skirt 
daintily  as  she  turned  away.  "  You  did  n't  say  good- 
by  to  Georgie,"  she  reminded  Grant,  still  making  use 
of  the  chirpy  tone.  "  I  hope  I  am  not  in  any  way  re- 
sponsible." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  be,"  said  Good  Indian 
calmly;  and  that,  for  some  reason,  seemed  to  intensify 
the  atmosphere  with  which  Evadna  chose  to  surround 
herself. 

She  led  Huckleberry  up  beside  the  store  platform 
without  giving  Grant  a  chance  to  help,  mounted,  and 
started  on  while  he  was  in  after  the  package  —  a  roll 
not  more  than  eight  inches  long,  and  weighing 
at  least  four  ounces,  which  brought  an  ironical  smile 
to  his  lips.  But  she  could  not  hope  to  outrun  him 
on  Huckleberry,  even  when  Huckleberry's  nose  was 
turned  toward  home,  and  he  therefore  came  clattering 
up  before  she  had  passed  the  straggling  outpost  of  rusty 
tin  cans  which  marked,  by  implication,  the  boundary 
line  between  Hartley  and  the  sagebrush  waste  surround- 
ing it. 


"DON'T    GET    EXCITED!"     209 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  a  good  deal  of  a  hurry,"  Good 
Indian  observed. 

"  Not  particularly,"  she  replied,  still  chirpy  as  to 
tone  and  supercilious  as  to  her  manner. 

It  would  be  foolish  to  repeat  all  that  was  said  during 
that  ride  home,  because  so  much  meaning  was  conveyed 
in  tones  and  glances  and  in  staring  straight  ahead  and 
saying  nothing.  They  were  sparring  politely  before 
they  were  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  behind  the  town; 
they  were  indulging  in  veiled  sarcasm  —  which  came 
rapidly  out  from  behind  the  veil  and  grew  sharp  and 
bitter  —  before  they  started  down  the  dusty  grade; 
they  were  not  saying  anything  at  all  when  they  rounded 
the  Point  o'  Rocks  and  held  their  horses  rigidly  back 
from  racing  home,  as  was  their  habit,  and  when  they 
dismounted  at  the  stable,  they  refused  to  look  at  each 
other  upon  any  pretext  whatsoever. 

Baumberger,  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and  smoking  his  big 
pipe,  lounged  up  from  the  pasture  gate  where  he  had 
been  indolently  rubbing  the  nose  of  a  buckskin  two-year- 
old  with  an  affectionate  disposition,  and  wheezed  out  the 
information  that  it  was  warm.  He  got  the  chance  to 
admire  a  very  stiff  pair  of  shoulders  and  a  neck  to  match 
for  his  answer. 

"  I  was  n't  referring  to  your  manner,  m'  son,"  he 
chuckled,  after  he  had  watched  Good  Indian  jerk  the 


210  GOOD   INDIAN 

latigo  loose  and  pull  off  the  saddle,  showing  the  wet 
imprint  of  it  on  Keno's  hide.  "I  wish  the  weather 
was  as  cool !  " 

Good  Indian  half  turned  with  the  saddle  in  his 
hands,  and  slapped  it  down  upon  its  side  so  close  to 
Baumberger  that  he  took  a  hasty  step  backward,  seized 
Keno's  dragging  bridle-reins,  and  started  for  the  stable. 
Baumberger  happened  to  be  in  the  way,  and  he  backed 
again,  more  hastily  than  before,  to  avoid  being  run 
over. 

"  Snow  blind  ? "  he  interrogated,  forcing  a  chuckle 
which  had  more  the  sound  of  a  growl. 

Good  Indian  stopped  in  the  doorway,  slipped  off  the 
bridle,  gave  Keno  a  hint  by  slapping  him  lightly  on 
the  rump,  and  when  the  horse  had  gone  on  into  the  cool 
shade  of  the  stable,  and  taking  his  place  in  his  stall, 
began  hungrily  nosing  the  hay  in  his  manger,  he  came 
back  to  unsaddle  Huckleberry,  who  was  nodding  sleep- 
ily with  his  under  lip  sagging  much  like  Baumberger's 
while  he  waited.  That  gentleman  seemed  to  be  once 
more  obstructing  the  path  of  Good  Indian.  He  dodged 
back  as  Grant  brushed  past  him. 

"  By  the  great  immortal  Jehosaphat !  "  swore  Baum- 
berger, with  an  ugly  leer  in  his  eyes,  "  I  never  knew 
before  that  I  was  so  small  I  could  n't  be  seen  with  the 
naked  eye ! " 


"DON'T    GET    EXCITED!" 

"  You  're  so  small  in  my  estimation  that  a  molecule 
would  look  like  a  hay-stack  alongside  you !  "  Good  In- 
dian lifted  the  skirt  of  Evadna's  side-saddle,  and  pro- 
ceeded calmly  to  loosen  the  cinch.  His  forehead 
smoothed  a  trifle,  as  if  that  one  sentence  had  relieved 
him  of  some  of  his  bottled  bitterness. 

"  You  ain't  shrunk  up  none  —  in  your  estimation," 
Baumberger  forgot  his  pose  of  tolerant  good  nature  to 
say.  His  heavy  jaw  trembled  as  if  he  had  been  over- 
taken with  a  brief  attack  of  palsy;  so  also  did  the 
hand  which  replaced  his  pipe  between  his  loosely  quiv- 
ering lips.  "  That  little  yellow-haired  witch  must  have 
given  yuh  the  cold  shoulder ;  but  you  need  n't  take  it 
out  on  me.  Had  a  quarrel  ? "  He  painstakingly 
brushed  some  ashes  from  his  sleeve,  once  more  the 
wheezing,  chuckling  fat  man  who  never  takes  anything 
very  seriously. 

"  Did  you  ever  try  minding  your  own  business  ?  " 
Grant  inquired  with  much  politeness  of  tone. 

"  We-e-ell,  yuh  see,  m'  son,  it 's  my  business  to  mind 
other  people's  business !  "  He  chuckled  at  what  he  evi- 
dently considered  a  witty  retort.  "  I  've  been  pouring 
oil  on  the  troubled  waters  all  forenoon  —  maybe  I  've 
kinda  got  the  habit." 

"  Only  you  're  pouring  it  on  a  fire  this  time." 

"  That  dangerous,  yuh  mean  ?  " 


212  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  You  're  liable  to  start  a  conflagration  you  can't  stop, 
and  that  may  consume  yourself,  is  all." 

"  Say,  they  sure  do  teach  pretty  talk  in  them  col- 
leges !  "  he  purred,  grinning  loosely,  his  own  speech 
purposely  uncouth. 

Good  Indian  turned  upon  him,  stopped  as  quickly, 
and  let  his  anger  vent  itself  in  a  sneer.  It  had  occurred 
to  him  that  Baumberger  was  not  goading  him  without 
purpose  —  because  Baumberger  was  not  that  kind  of 
man.  Oddly  enough,  he  had  a  short,  vivid,  mental  pic- 
ture of  him  and  the  look  on  his  face  when  he  was  play- 
ing the  trout ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  something 
of  that  same  cruel  craftiness  now  in  his  eyes  and  around 
his  mouth.  Good  Indian  felt  for  one  instant  as  if  he  were 
that  trout,  and  Baumberger  was  playing  him  skillfully. 
"  He  's  trying  to  make  me  let  go  all  holds  and  tip  my 
hand,"  he  thought,  keenly  reading  him,  and  he  steadied 
himself. 

"  What  d'yuh  mean  by  me  pouring  oil  on  fire  ? " 
Baumberger  urged  banteringly.  "  Sounds  like  the  hero 
talking  to  the  villain  in  one  of  these  here  save-him-he  's- 
my-sweetheart  plays." 

"  You  go  to  the  devil,"  said  Good  Indian  shortly. 

"  Don't  repeat  yourself,  m'  son ;  it 's  a  sign  uh  fail- 
ing powers.  You  said  that  to  me  this  morning,  remem- 
ber. And  —  don't  —  get  —  excited !  "  His  right  arm 


"DON'T    GET    EXCITED!"    213 

raised  slightly  when  he  said  that,  as  if  he  expected  a 
blow  for  his  answer. 

Good  Indian  saw  that  involuntary  arm  movement,  but 
he  saw  it  from  the  tail  of  his  eye,  and  he  drew  his  lips 
a  little  tighter.  Clearly  Baumberger  was  deliberately 
trying  to  force  him  into  a  rage  that  would  spend  some 
of  its  force  in  threats,  perhaps.  He  therefore  grew  cun- 
ningly calm,  and  said  absolutely  nothing.  He  led 
Huckleberry  into  the  stable,  came  out,  and  shut  the  door, 
and  walked  past  Baumberger  as  if  he  were  not  there  at 
all.  And  Baumberger  stood  with  his  head  lowered  so 
that  his  flabby  jaw  was  resting  upon  his  chest,  and 
stared  frowningly  after  him  until  the  yard  gate  swung 
shut  behind  his  tall,  stiffly  erect  figure. 

"  I  gotta  watch  that  jasper,"  he  mumbled  over  his 
pipe,  as  a  sort  of  summing  up,  and  started  slowly  to  the 
house.  Halfway  there  he  spoke  again  in  the  same  mum- 
bling undertone.  "  He  's  got  the  Injun  look  in  his  eyes 
t'-day.  I  gotta  watch  him." 

He  did  watch  him.  It  is  astonishing  how  a  family 
can  live  for  months  together,  and  not  realize  how  little 
real  privacy  there  is  for  anyone  until  something  especial 
comes  up  for  secret  discussion.  It  struck  Good  Indian 
forcibly  that  afternoon,  because  he  was  anxious  for  a 
word  in  private  with  Peaceful,  or  with  Phoebe,  and  also 
with  Evadna  —  if  it  was  only  to  continue  their  quarrel. 


214  GOOD    INDIAN 

At  dinner  he  could  not  speak  without  being  heard 
by  all.  After  dinner,  the  family  showed  an  uncon- 
scious disposition  to  "  bunch."  Peaceful  and  Baum- 
berger  sat  and  smoked  upon  that  part  of  the  porch 
which  was  coolest,  and  the  boys  stayed  close  by  so  that 
they  could  hear  what  might  be  said  about  the  amazing 
state  of  affairs  down  in  the  orchard. 

Evadna,  it  is  true,  strolled  rather  self-consciously 
off  to  the  head  of  the  pond,  carefully  refraining,  as  she 
passed,  from  glancing  toward  Good  Indian.  He  felt 
that  she  expected  him  to  follow,  but  he  wanted  first  to 
ask  Peaceful  a  few  questions,  and  to  warn  him  not  to 
trust  Baumberger,  so  he  stayed  where  he  was,  sprawled 
upon  his  back  with  a  much-abused  cushion  under  his 
head  and  his  hat  tilted  over  his  face,  so  that  he  could 
see  Baumberger's  face  without  the  scrutiny  attracting 
notice. 

He  did  not  gain  anything  by  staying,  for  Peaceful 
had  little  to  say,  seeming  to  be  occupied  mostly  with 
dreamy  meditations.  He  nodded,  now  and  then,  in  re- 
sponse to  Baumberger's  rumbling  monologues,  and  occa- 
sionally he  removed  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  long  enough 
to  reply  with  a  sentence  where  the  nod  was  not  sufficient. 
Baumberger  droned  on,  mostly  relating  the  details  of 
cases  he  had  won  against  long  odds  —  cases  for  the  most 
part  similar  to  this  claim-jumping  business. 


"DON'T    GET    EXCITED!" 

Nothing  had  been  done  that  day,  Grant  gathered,  be- 
yond giving  the  eight  claimants  due  notice  to  leave. 
The  boys  were  evidently  dissatisfied  about  something, 
though  they  said  nothing.  They  shifted  their  positions 
with  pettish  frequency,  and  threw  away  cigarettes  only 
half  smoked,  and  scowled  at  dancing  leaf -shadows  on  the 
ground. 

When  he  could  no  longer  endure  the  inaction,  he  rose, 
stretched  his  arms  high  above  his  head,  settled  his  hat 
into  place,  gave  Jack  a  glance  of  meaning,  and  went 
through  the  kitchen  to  the  milk-house.  He  felt  sure 
that  Baumberger's  ears  were  pricked  toward  the  sound 
of  his  footsteps,  and  he  made  them  purposely  audible. 

"  Hello,  Mother  Hart/'  he  called  out  cheerfully  to 
Phoabe,  pottering  down  in  the  coolness.  "  Any  cream 
going  to  waste,  or  buttermilk,  or  cake  ?  "  He  went  down 
to  her,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder  with  a 
caressing  touch  which  brought  tears  into  her  eyes. 
"  Don't  you  worry  a  bit,  little  mother,"  he  said  softly. 
"  I  think  we  can  beat  them  at  their  own  game.  They  've 
stacked  the  deck,  but  we  '11  beat  it,  anyhow."  His  hand 
slid  down  to  her  arm,  and  gave  it  a  little,  reassuring 
squeeze. 

"  Oh,  Grant,  Grant !  "  She  laid  her  forehead  against 
him  for  a  moment,  then  looked  up  at  him  with  a  cer- 
tain whimsical  solicitude.  "  Never  mind  our  trouble 


216  GOOD    INDIAN 

—  now.  What 's  this  about  you  and  Vadnie  ?  The 
boys  seem  to  think  you  two  are  going  to  make  a  match 
of  it.  And  have  you  been  quarreling,  you  two  ?  I  only 
want,"  she  added,  deprecatingly,  "  to  see  my  biggest 
boy  happy,  and  if  I  can  do  anything  in  any  way  to 
help  — " 

"  You  can't,  except  just  don't  worry  when  we  get  to 
scrapping."  His  eyes  smiled  down  at  her  with  their 
old,  quizzical  humor,  which  she  had  not  seen  in  them 
for  some  days.  "  I  foresee  that  we  're  due  to  scrap  a 
good  deal  of  the  time,"  he  predicted.  "  We're  both 
pretty  peppery.  But  we'll  make  out,  all  right.  You 
did  n't  " —  he  flushed  consciously — "  you  did  n't  think 
I  was  going  to  —  to  fall  dead  in  love  —  " 

"  Did  n't  I  ?  "  Phosbe  laughed  at  him  openly.  "  I  'd 
have  been  more  surprised  if  you  had  n't.  Why,  my 
grief!  I  know  enough  about  human  nature,  I  hope, 
to  expect  — " 

"  Churning  ?  "  The  voice  of  Baumberger  purred 
down  to  them.  There  he  stood  bulkily  at  the  top  of  the 
steps,  good-naturedly  regarding  them.  "  Mr.  Hart  and 
I  are  goin'  to  take  a  ride  up  to  the  station  —  gotta  send 
a  telegram  or  two  about  this  little  affair  " —  he  made  a 
motion  with  his  pipe  toward  the  orchard  — "  and  I  just 
thought  a  good,  cold  drink  of  buttermilk  before  we 
start  would  n't  be  bad."  His  glance  just  grazed  Good 


"DON'T    GET   EXCITED!"    217 

Indian,  and  passed  him  over  as  being  of  no  con- 
sequence. 

"  If  you  don't  happen  to  have  any  handy,  it  don't 
matter  in  the  least,"  he  added,  and  turned  to  go  when 
Phoebe  shook  her  head.  "  Anything  we  can  get  for  yuh 
at  the  store,  Mrs.  Hart?  Won't  be  any  trouble  at 
all  —  Oh,  all  right."  He  had  caught  another  shake 
of  the  head. 

"  We  may  be  gone  till  supper-time,"  he  explained 
further,  "  and  I  trust  to  your  good  sense,  Mrs.  Hart, 
to  see  that  the  boys  keep  away  from  those  fellows  down 
there."  The  pipe,  and  also  his  head,  again  indicated  the 
men  in  the  orchard.  "  We  don't  want  any  ill  feeling 
stirred  up,  you  understand,  and  so  they  'd  better  just 
keep  away  from  'em.  They  're  good  boys  —  they  '11  do 
as  you  say."  He  leered  at  her  ingratiatingly,  shot  a 
keen,  questioning  look  at  Good  Indian,  and  went  his 
lumbering  way. 

Grant  went  to  the  top  of  the  steps,  and  made  sure 
that  he  had  really  gone  before  he  said  a  word.  Even 
then  he  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  stairway  with 
his  back  to  the  pond,  so  that  he  could  keep  watch  of  the 
approaches  to  the  spring-house;  he  had  become  an  ex- 
ceedingly suspicious  young  man  overnight. 

"  Mother  Hart,  on  the  square,  what  do  you  think  of 
Baumberger  ?  "  he  asked  her  abruptly.  "  Come  and  sit 


218  GOOD    INDIAN 

down ;  I  want  to  talk  with  you  —  if  I  can  without  hav- 
ing the  whole  of  Idaho  listening." 

"  Oh,  Grant  —  I  don't  know  what  to  think !  He 
seems  all  right,  and  I  don't  know  why  he  should  n't 
be  just  what  he  seems ;  he  's  got  the  name  of  being  a 
good  lawyer.  But  something  —  well,  I  get  notions 
about  things  sometimes.  And  I  can't,  somehow,  feel 
just  right  about  him  taking  up  this  jumping  business. 
I  don't  know  why.  I  guess  it 's  just  a  feeling,  because 
I  can  see  you  don't  like  him.  And  the  boys  don't  seem 
to,  either,  for  some  reason.  I  guess  it 's  because  he 
won't  let  'em  get  right  after  those  fellows  and  drive  'em 
off  the  ranch.  They  've  been  uneasy  as  they  could  be 
all  day."  She  sat  down  upon  a  rough  stool  just  in- 
side the  door,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  troubled  eyes. 
"  And  I  'm  getting  it,  too  —  seems  like  I  'd  go  all  to 
pieces  if  I  can't  do  something!  "  She  sighed,  and  tried 
to  cover  the  sigh  with  a  laugh  —  which  was  not,  how- 
ever, a  great  success.  "  I  wish  I  could  be  as  cool-headed 
as  Thomas,"  she  said,  with  a  tinge  of  petulance.  "  It 
don't  seem  to  worry  him  none!  " 

"  What  does  he  think  of  Baumberger  ?  Is  he  going 
to  let  him  take  the  case  and  handle  it  to  please  him- 
self ? "  Good  Indian  was  tapping  his  boot-toe  thought- 
fully upon  the  bottom  step,  and  glancing  up  now  and 
then  as  a  precaution  against  being  overheard. 


"DON'T    GET    EXCITED!" 

"I  guess  so,"  she  admitted,  answering  the  last  ques- 
tion first.  "  I  have  n't  had  a  real  good  chance  to  talk  to 
Thomas  all  day.  Baumberger  has  been  with  him  most 
of  the  time.  But  I  guess  he  is;  anyway,  Baumberger 
seems  to  take  it  for  granted  he  's  got  the  case.  Thomas 
hates  to  hurt  anybody's  feelings,  and,  even  if  he  did  n't 
want  him,  he  'd  hate  to  say  so.  But  he  's  as  good  a 
lawyer  as  any,  I  guess.  And  Thomas  seems  to  like  him 
well  enough.  Thomas,"  she  reminded  Good  Indian  un- 
necessarily, "  never  does  say  much  about-  anything." 

"  I  'd  like  to  get  a  chance  to  talk  to  him,"  Good  In- 
dian observed.  "  I  '11  have  to  just  lead  him  off  some- 
where by  main  strength,  I  guess.  Baumberger  sticks 
to  him  like  a  bur  to  a  dog's  tail.  What  are  those  fel- 
lows doing  down  there  now  ?  Does  anybody  know  ?  " 

"  You  heard  what  he  said  to  me  just  now,"  Phoebe 
said,  impatiently.  "  He  don't  want  anybody  to  go  near. 
It 's  terribly  aggravating,"  she  confessed  dispiritedly, 
"  to  have  a  lot  of  ruffians  camped  down,  cool  as  you 
please,  on  your  own  ranch,  and  not  be  allowed  to  drive 
'em  off.  I  don't  wonder  the  boys  are  all  sulky.  If 
Baumberger  was  n't  here  at  all,  I  guess  we  'd  have  got 
rid  of  'em  before  now.  I  don't  know  as  I  think  very 
much  of  lawyers,  anyhow.  I  believe  I  'd  a  good  deal 
rather  fight  first  and  go  to  law  about  it  afterward  if  I 
had  to.  But  Thomas  is  so — calm!" 


GOOD    INDIAN 

"  I  think  I  '11  go  down  and  have  a  look,"  said  Good 
Indian  suddenly.  "  I  'm  not  under  Baumberger's  or- 
ders, if  the  rest  of  the  bunch  is.  And  I  wish  you  'd 
tell  Peaceful  I  want  to  talk  to  him,  Mother  Hart  — 
will  you?  Tell  him  to  ditch  his  guardian  angel  some- 
how. I  'd  like  to  see  him  on  the  quiet  if  I  can,  but  if  I 
can't—" 

"  Can't  be  nice,  and  forgiving,  and  repentant,  and  — 
a  dear  ?  "  Evadna  had  crept  over  to  him  by  way  of  the 
rocks  behind  the  pond,  and  at  every  pause  in  her  ques- 
tioning she  pushed  him  forward  by  his  two  shoulders. 
"  I  'm  so  furious  I  could  beat  you !  What  do  you  mean, 
savage,  by  letting  a  lady  stay  all  afternoon  by  her- 
self, waiting  for  you  to  come  and  coax  her  into  being 
nice  to  you  ?  Don't  you  know  I  h-a-ate  you  ?  "  She  had 
him  by  the  ears,  then,  pulling  his  head  erratically  from 
side  to  side,  and  she  finished  by  giving  each  ear  a  little 
slap  and  laid  her  arms  around  his  neck.  "  Please  don't 
look  at  me  that  way,  Aunt  Phoebe,"  she  said,  when  she 
discovered  her  there  inside  the  door.  "  Here  's  a  hor- 
rible young  villain  who  does  n't  know  how  to  behave, 
and  makes  me  do  all  the  making  up.  I  don't  like  him 
one  bit,  and  I  just  came  to  tell  him  so  and  be  done. 
And  I  don't  suppose,"  she  added,  holding  her  two  hands 
tightly  over  his  mouth,  "he  has  a  word  to  say  for 
himself." 


"DON'T    GET   EXCITED!" 

Since  he  was  effectually  gagged,  Grant  had  not  a 
word  to  say.  Even  when  he  had  pulled  her  hands  away 
and  held  them  prisoners  in  his  own,  he  said  nothing. 
This  was  Evadna  in  a  new  and  unaccountable  mood,  it 
seemed  to  him.  She  had  certainly  been  very  angry  with 
him  at  noon.  She  had  accused  him,  in  that  roundabout 
way  which  seems  to  be  a  woman's  favorite  method  of 
reaching  a  real  grievance,  of  being  fickle  and  neglectful 
and  inconsiderate  and  a  brute. 

The  things  she  had  said  to  him  on  the  way  down  the 
grade  had  rankled  in  his  mind,  and  stirred  all  the  sullen 
pride  in  his  nature  to  life,  and  he  could  not  forget  them 
as  easily  as  she  appeared  to  have  done.  Good  Indian 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  saying  things,  even  in  anger, 
which  he  did  not  mean,  and  he  could  not  understand 
how  anyone  else  could  do  so.  And  the  things  she  had 
said! 

But  here  she  was,  nevertheless,  laughing  at  him  and 
blushing  adorably  because  he  still  held  her  fast,  and 
making  the  blood  of  him  race  most  unreasonably. 

"  Don't  scold  me,  Aunt  Phoebe,"  she  begged,  per- 
haps because  there  was  something  in  Phoebe's  face  which 
she  did  not  quite  understand,  and  so  mistook  for  disap- 
proval of  her  behavior.  "I  should  have  told  you  last 
night  that  we  're  —  well,  I  suppose  we  're  supposed  to 
be  engaged !  "  She  twisted  her  hands  away  from  him, 


222  GOOD    INDIAN 

and  came  down  the  steps  to  her  aunt.  "  It  all  hap- 
pened so  unexpectedly  —  really,  I  never  dreamed  I 
cared  anything  for  him,  Aunt  Phoebe,  until  he  made 
me  care.  And  last  night  I  could  n't  tell  you,  and  this 
morning  I  was  going  to,  but  all  this  horrible  trouble 
came  up  —  and,  anyway,"  she  finished  with  a  flash  of 
pretty  indignation,  "  I  think  Grant  might  have  told 
you  himself !  I  don't  think  it 's  a  bit  nice  of  him  to 
leave  everything  like  that  for  me.  He  might  have  told 
you  before  he  went  chasing  off  to  —  to  Hartley."  She 
put  her  arms  around  her  aunt's  neck.  "  You  are  n't 
angry,  are  you,  Aunt  Phoebe  ?  "  she  coaxed.  "  You  — 
you  know  you  said  you  wanted  me  to  be  par-fic-ularly 
nice  to  Grant ! " 

"  Great  grief,  child !  You  need  n't  choke  me  to  death. 
Of  course  I  'm  not  angry."  But  Phoebe's  eyes  did  not 
brighten. 

"  You  look  angry,"  Evadna  pouted,  and  kissed  her 
placatingly. 

"  I  Ve  got  plenty  to  be  worked  up  over,  without 
worrying  over  your  love  affairs,  Vadnie."  Phoebe's  eyes 
sought  Grant's  anxiously.  "  I  don't  doubt  but  what  it 's 
more  important  to  you  than  anything  else  on  earth,  but 
I  'm  thinking  some  of  the  home  I  'm  likely  to  lose." 

Evadna  drew  back,  and  made  a  movement  to  go. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sorry  I  interrupted  you  then,  Aunt  Phcebe. 


"DON'T    GET   EXCITED!"    a«8 

I  suppose  you  and  Grant  were  busy  discussing  those 
men  in  the  orchard  — " 

"  Don't  be  silly,  child.  You  are  n't  interrupting 
anybody,  and  there  's  no  call  for  you  to  run  off  like 
that.  We  are  n't  talking  secrets  that  I  know  of." 

In  some  respects  the  mind  of  Good  Indian  was  ex- 
tremely simple  and  direct.  His  knowledge  of  women 
was  rudimentary  and  based  largely  upon  his  instincts 
rather  than  any  experience  he  had  had  with  them.  He 
had  been  extremely  uncomfortable  in  the  knowledge 
that  Evadna  was  angry,  and  strongly  impelled,  in  spite 
of  his  hurt  pride,  to  make  overtures  for  peace.  He  was 
puzzled,  as  well  as  surprised,  when  she  seized  him  by 
the  shoulders  and  herself  made  peace  so  bewitchingly 
that  he  could  scarcely  realize  it  at  first.  But  since 
fate  was  kind,  and  his  lady  love  no  longer  frowned 
upon  him,  he  made  the  mistake  of  taking  it  for  granted 
she  neither  asked  nor  expected  him  to  explain  his  seem- 
ing neglect  of  her  and  his  visit  to  Miss  Georgie  at 
Hartley. 

She  was  not  angry  with  him.  Therefore,  he  was 
free  to  turn  his  whole  attention  to  this  trouble  which 
had  come  upon  his  closest  friends.  He  reached 
out,  caught  Evadna  by  the  hand,  pulled  her  close 
to  him,  and  smiled  upon  her  in  a  way  to  make  her 
catch  her  breath  in  a  most  unaccountable  manner. 


GOOD    INDIAN 

But  he  did  not  say  anything  to  her;  he  was  a  young 
man  unused  to  dalliance  when  there  were  serious  things 
at  hand. 

"  I  'm  going  down  there  and  see  what  they  're  up  to," 
he  told  Phoebe,  giving  Evadna's  hand  a  squeeze  and 
letting  it  go.  "  I  suspect  there 's  something  more  than 
keeping  the  peace  behind  Baumberger's  anxiety  to  have 
them  left  strictly  alone.  The  boys  had  better  keep  away, 
though." 

"  Are  you  going  down  in  the  orchard  ? "  Evadna 
rounded  her  unbelievably  blue  eyes  at  him.  "  Then 
I  'm  going  along." 

"  You  '11  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  little  Miss  Muffit," 
he  declared  from  the  top  step. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  might  want  to  do  some  swearing."  He  grinned 
down  at  her,  and  started  off. 

"  Now,  Grant,  don't  you  do  anything  rash !  "  Phosbe 
called  after  him  sharply. 

"  (  Don't  —  get  —  excited ! '  '  he  retorted,  mimick- 
ing Baumberger. 

"  I  'm  going  a  little  way,  whether  you  want  me  to  or 
not,"  Evadna  threatened,  pouting  more  than  ever. 

She  did  go  as  far  as  the  porch  with  him,  and  was 
kissed  and  sent  back  like  a  child.  She  did  not,  how- 
ever, go  back  to  her  aunt,  but  ran  into  her  own  room, 


"DON'T    GET    EXCITED!"    225 

where  she  could  look  out  through  the  grove  toward  the 
orchard  —  and  to  the  stable  as  well,  though  that  view 
did  not  interest  her  particularly  at  first.  It  was  pure 
accident  that  made  her  witness  what  took  place  at  the 
gate. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    LITTLE   TAEGET-PEACTICE 

AGrRIMY  buck  with  no  hat  of  any  sort  and  with 
his  hair  straggling  unbraided  over  one  side  of 
his  face  to  conceal  a  tumor  which  grew  just  over  his  left 
eye  like  a  large,  ripe  plum,  stood  outside  the  gate,  in 
doubt  whether  to  enter  or  remain  where  he  was.  When 
he  saw  Good  Indian  he  grunted,  fumbled  in  his  blanket, 
and  held  out  a  yellowish  envelope. 

"  Ketchum  Squaw-talk-far-off,"  he  explained  gut- 
turally. 

Good  Indian  took  the  envelope,  thinking  it  must  be 
a  telegram,  though  he  could  not  imagine  who  would 
be  sending  him  one.  His  name  was  written  plainly 
upon  the  outside,  and  within  was  a  short  note  scrawled 
upon  a  telegraph  form: 

"  Come  up  as  soon  as  you  possibly  can.  I  've  some- 
thing to  tell  you." 

That  was  what  she  had  written.  He  read  it  twice 
before  he  looked  up. 

"  What  time  you  ketchum  this  ?  "  he  asked,  tapping 
the  message  with  his  finger. 


TARGET -PRACTICE 

"  Mebbyso  one  hour."  The  buck  pulled  a  brass 
watch  ostentatiously  from  under  his  blanket,  held  it 
to  his  ear  a  moment,  as  if  he  needed  auricular  assur- 
ance that  it  was  running  properly,  and  pointed  to  the 
hour  of  three.  "  Ketchum  one  dolla,  mebbyso  pike- 
way  quick.  No  stoppum,"  he  said  virtuously. 

"  You  see  Peaceful  in  Hartley  ?  "  Good  Indian  asked 
the  question  from  an  idle  impulse;  in  reality,  he  was 
wondering  what  it  was  that  Miss  Georgie  had  to  tell 
him. 

"  Peacefu',  him  go  far  off.  On  train.  All  same 
heap  fat  man  go  'long.  Mebbyso  Shoshone,  mebbyso 
Pocatello." 

Good  Indian  looked  down  at  the  note,  and  frowned; 
that,  probably,  was  what  she  had  meant  to  tell  him, 
though  he  could  not  see  where  the  knowledge  was  going 
to  help  him  any.  If  Peaceful  had  gone  to  Shoshone,  he 
was  gone,  and  that  settled  it.  Undoubtedly  he  would 
return  the  next  day  —  perhaps  that  night,  even.  He 
was  beginning  to  feel  the  need  of  a  quiet  hour  in  which 
to  study  the  tangle,  but  he  had  a  suspicion  that  Baum- 
berger  had  some  reason  other  than  a  desire  for  peace 
in  wanting  the  jumpers  left  to  themselves,  and  he  started 
toward  the  orchard,  as  he  had  at  first  intended. 

"  Mebbyso  ketchum  one  dolla,  yo',"  hinted  Charlie, 
the  buck. 


228  GOOD    INDIAN 

But  Good  Indian  went  on  without  paying  any  atten- 
tion to  him.  At  the  road  he  met  Jack  and  Wally,  just 
returning  from  the  orchard. 

"  No  use  going  down  there,"  Jack  informed  him 
sulkily.  "  They  're  just  laying  in  the  shade  with  their 
guns  handy,  doing  nothing.  They  won't  let  anybody 
cross  their  line,  and  they  won't  say  anything  —  not  even 
when  you  cuss  'em.  Wally  and  I  got  black  in  the  face 
trying  to  make  them  come  alive.  Baumberger  got  back 
yet  ?  Wally  and  I  have  got  a  scheme  — " 

"  He  and  your  dad  took  the  train  for  Shoshone. 
Say,  does  anyone  know  what  that  bunch  over  in  the 
meadow  is  up  to  ? "  Good  Indian  leaned  his  back 
against  a  tree,  and  eyed  the  two  morosely. 

"  Clark  and  Gene  are  over  there,"  said  Wally.  "  But 
I  'd  gamble  they  are  n't  doing  any  more  than  these  fel- 
lows are.  They  have  n't  started  to  pan  out  any  dirt  — 
they  have  n't  done  a  thing,  it  looks  like,  but  lay  around 
in  the  shade.  I  must  say  I  don't  sabe  their  play.  And 
the  worst  of  it  is,"  he  added  desperately,  "  a  fellow 
can't  do  anything." 

"  I  'm  going  to  break  out  pretty  darned  sudden," 
Jack  observed  calmly.  "  I  feel  it  coming  on."  He 
smiled,  but  there  was  a  look  of  steel  in  his  eyes. 

Good  Indian  glanced  at  him  sharply. 

"  Now,  you  fellows,  listen  to  me,"  he  said.     "  This 


TARGET-PRACTICE         229 

thing  is  partly  my  fault.  I  could  have  prevented  it, 
maybe,  if  I  had  n't  been  so  taken  up  with  my  own 
affairs.  Old  Peppajee  told  me  Baumberger  was  up  to 
some  devilment  when  he  first  came  down  here.  He 
heard  him  talking  to  Saunders  in  Pete  Hamilton's 
stable.  And  the  first  night  he  was  here,  Peppajee  and 
I  saw  him  down  at  the  stable  at  midnight,  talking  to 
someone.  Peppajee  kept  on  his  trail  till  he  got  that 
snake  bite,  and  he  warned  me  a  plenty.  But  I  did  n't 
take  much  stock  in  it  —  or  if  I  did  — "  He  lifted  his 
shoulders  expressively. 

"  So,"  he  went  on,  after  a  minute  of  bitter  thinking, 
"  I  want  you  to  keep  out  of  this.  You  know  how  your 
mother  would  feel  —  You  don't  want  to  get  foolish. 
You  can  keep  an  eye  on  them  —  to-night  especially. 
I  've  an  idea  they  're  waiting  for  dark ;  and  if  I  knew 
why,  I  'd  be  a  lot  to  the  good.  And  if  I  knew  why  old 
Baumberger  took  your  father  off  so  suddenly,  why  — 
I  'd  be  wiser  than  I  am  now."  He  lifted  his  hat, 
brushed  the  moisture  from  his  forehead,  and  gave  a 
grunt  of  disapproval  when  his  eyes  rested  on  Jack. 

"  What  yuh  loaded  down  like  that  for  ? "  he  de- 
manded. "  You  fellows  better  put  those  guns  in  cold 
storage.  I  'm  like  Baumberger  in  one  respect  —  we 
don't  want  any  violence!  "  He  grinned  without  any 
feeling  of  mirth. 


230  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  Something  else  is  liable  to  be  put  in  cold  storage 
first,"  Wally  hinted,  significantly.  "  I  must  say  I  like 
this  standing  around  and  looking  dangerous,  without 
making  a  pass!  I  wish  something  would  break  loose 
somewhere." 

"  I  notice  you  're  packing  yours,  large  as  life,"  Jack 
pointed  out.  "  Maybe  you  're  just  wearing  it  for  an 
ornament,  though." 

"  Sure !  "  Good  Indian,  feeling  all  at  once  the  utter 
futility  of  standing  there  talking,  left  them  grumbling 
over  their  forced  inaction,  without  explaining  where  he 
was  going,  or  what  he  meant  to  do.  Indeed,  he  scarcely 
knew  himself.  He  was  in  that  uncomfortable  state  of 
mind  where  one  feels  that  one  must  do  something,  with- 
out having  the  faintest  idea  of  what  that  something  is,  or 
how  it  is  to  be  done.  It  seemed  to  him  that  they  were 
all  in  the  same  mental  befuddlement,  and  it  seemed 
impossible  to  stay  on  the  ranch  another  hour  without 
making  a  hostile  move  of  some  sort  —  and  he  knew 
that,  when  he  did  make  a  move,  he  at  least  ought  to 
know  why  he  did  it. 

The  note  in  his  pocket  gave  him  an  excuse  for  action 
of  some  sort,  even  though  he  felt  sure  that  nothing 
would  come  of  it;  at  least,  he  thought,  he  would  have 
a  chance  to  discuss  the  thing  with  Miss  Georgie  again  — 
and  while  he  was  not  a  man  who  must  have  everything 


TARGET -PRACTICE         231 

put  into  words,  he  had  found  comfort  and  a  certain 
clarity  of  thought  in  talking  with  her. 

"  Why  don't  you  invite  me  to  -go  along  ? "  Evadna 
challenged  from  the  gate,  when  he  was  ready  to  start. 
She  laughed  when  she  said  it,  but  there  was  something 
beneath  the  laughter,  if  he  had  only  been  close  enough 
to  read  it. 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  want  to  ride  through  all  that 
dust  and  heat  again  to-day,"  he  called  back.  "  You  're 
better  off  in  the  shade." 

"Going  to  call  on  '  Squaw-talk-f ar-off ' — again?" 
She  was  still  laughing,  with  something  else  beneath  the 
laugh. 

He  glanced  at  her  quickly,  wondering  where  she  had 
gotten  the  name,  and  in  his  wonder  neglected  to  make 
audible  reply.  Also  he  passed  over  the  chance  to  ride 
back  to  the  gate  and  tell  her  good-by  —  with  a  hasty 
kiss,  perhaps,  from  the  saddle  —  as  a  lover  should  have 
done. 

He  was  not  used  to  love-making.  For  him,  it  was 
settled  that  they  loved  each  other,  and  would  marry 
some  day  —  he  hoped  the  day  would  be  soon.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  a  girl  wants  to  be  told  over  and 
over  that  she  is  the  only  woman  in  the  whole  world  worth 
a  second  thought  or  glance ;  nor  that  he  should  stop  and 
say  just  where  he  was  going,  and  what  he  meant  to  do, 


232  GOOD    INDIAN 

and  how  reluctant  he  was  to  be  away  from  her.  Trouble 
sat  upon  his  mind  like  a  dead  weight,  and  dulled  his  per- 
ception, perhaps.  He  waved  his  hand  to  her  from  the 
stable,  and  galloped  down  the  trail  to  the  Point  o' 
Rocks,  and  his  mind,  so  far  as  Evadna  was  concerned, 
was  at  ease. 

Evadna,  however,  was  crying,  with  her  arms  folded 
upon  the  top  of  the  gate,  before  the  cloud  which  marked 
his  passing  had  begun  to  sprinkle  the  gaunt,  gray  sage- 
bushes  along  the  trail  with  a  fresh  layer  of  choking 
dust.  Jack  and  Wally  came  up,  scowling  at  the  world 
and  finding  no  words  to  match  their  gloom.  Wally  gave 
her  a  glance,  and  went  on  to  the  blacksmith  shop,  but 
Jack  went  straight  up  to  her,  for  he  liked  her  well. 

"  What  'a  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked  dully.  "  Mad  be- 
cause you  can't  smoke  up  the  ranch  ?  " 

Evadna  fumbled  blindly  for  her  handkerchief, 
scoured  her  eyes  well  when  she  found  it,  and  put  up 
the  other  hand  to  further  shield  her  face. 

"  Oh,  the  whole  place  is  like  a  graveyard/'  she  com- 
plained. "  Nobody  will  talk,  or  do  anything  but  just 
wander  around !  I  just  can't  stand  it !  "  Which  was 
not  frank  of  her. 

"  It 's  too  hot  to  do  much  of  anything,"  he  said 
apologetically.  "  We  might  take  a  ride,  if  you  don't 
mind  the  heat." 


TARGET-PRACTICE         233 

"  You  don't  want  to  ride,"  she  objected  petulantly. 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  with  Good  Indian  ? "  he 
countered. 

"  Because  I  did  n't  want  to.  And  I  do  wish  you  'd 
quit  calling  him  that;  he  has  a  real  name,  I  believe." 

"  If  you  're  looking  for  a  scrap,"  grinned  Jack, 
"  I  '11  stake  you  to  my  six  gun,  and  you  can  go  down 
and  kill  off  a  few  of  those  claim-jumpers.  You  seem 
to  be  in  just  about  the  proper  frame  uh  mind  to  murder 
the  whole  bunch.  Fly  at  it !  " 

"  It  begins  to  look  as  if  we  women  would  have  to 
do  something,"  she  retorted  cruelly.  "  There  does  n't 
seem  to  be  a  man  on  the  ranch  with  spirit  enough  to 
stop  them  from  digging  up  the  whole  — " 

"  I  guess  that  '11  be  about  enough,"  Jack  interrupted 
her,  coldly.  "  Why  did  n't  you  say  that  to  Good  In- 
dian?" 

"  I  told  you  not  to  call  him  that.  I  don't  see  why 
everybody  is  so  mean  to-day.  There  is  n't  a  person  — " 

When  Jack  laughed,  he  shut  his  eyes  until  he  looked 
through  narrow  slits  under  heavy  lashes,  and  showed 
some  very  nice  teeth,  and  two  deep  dimples  besides  the 
one  which  always  stood  in  his  chin.  He  laughed  then, 
for  the  first  time  that  day,  and  if  Evadna  had  been  in  a 
less  vixenish  temper  she  would  have  laughed  with  him, 
just  as  everyone  else  always  did.  But  instead  of  that, 


234  GOOD   INDIAN 

she  began  to  cry  again,  which  made  Jack  feel  very 
much  a  brute. 

"  Oh,  come  on  and  be  good,"  he  urged  remorsefully. 
But  Evadna  turned  and  ran  back  into  the  house  and 
into  her  room,  and  cried  luxuriously  into  her  pillow. 
Jack,  peeping  in  at  the  window  which  opened  upon  the 
porch,  saw  her  there,  huddled  upon  the  bed. 

In  the  spring-house  his  mother  sat  crying  silently 
over  her  helplessness,  and  failed  to  respond  to  his  com- 
forting pats  upon  the  shoulder.  Donny  struck  at  him 
viciously  when  Jack  asked  him  an  idle  question,  and 
Charlie,  the  Indian  with  the  tumor  over  his  eye,  scowled 
from  the  corner  of  the  house  where  he  was  squatting 
until  someone  offered  him  fruit,  or  food,  or  tobacco. 
He  was  of  an  acquisitive  nature,  was  Charlie  —  and 
the  road  to  his  favor  must  be  paved  with  gifts. 

"  This  is  what  I  call  hell,"  Jack  stated  aloud,  and 
went  straight  away  to  the  strawberry  patch,  took  up 
his  stand  with  his  toes  against  Stanley's  corner  stake, 
cursed  him  methodically  until  he  had  quite  exhausted 
his  vocabulary,  and  put  a  period  to  his  forceful  re- 
marks by  shooting  a  neat,  round  hole  through  Stan- 
ley's coffee-pot.  And  Jack  was  the  mild  one  of  the 
family. 

By  the  time  he  had  succeeded  in  puncturing  reck- 
lessly the  frying-pan,  and  also  the  battered  pan  in  which 


TARGET-PRACTICE          235 

Stanley  no  doubt  meant  to  wash  his  samples  of  soil, 
his  good  humor  returned.  So  also  did  the  other  boys, 
running  in  long  leaps  through  the  garden  and  arriving 
at  the  spot  very  belligerent  and  very  much  out  of 
breath. 

"  Got  to  do  something  to  pass  away  the  time,"  Jack 
grinned,  bringing  his  front  sight  once  more  to  bear 
upon  the  coffee-pot,  already  badly  dented  and  showing 
three  black  holes.  "  And  I  ain't  offering  any  violence 
to  anybody.  You  can't  hang  a  man,  Mr.  Stanley,  for 
shooting  up  a  frying-pan.  And  I  would  n't  —  hurt  — 
you  —  for  —  anything !  "  He  had  just  reloaded,  so  that 
his  bullets  saw  him  to  the  end  of  the  sentence. 

Stanley  watched  his  coffee-pot  dance  and  roll  like  a 
thing  in  pain,  and  swore  when  all  was  done.  But  he 
did  not  shoot,  though  one  could  see  how  his  fingers 
must  itch  for  the  feel  of  the  trigger. 

"  Your  old  dad  will  sweat  blood  for  this  —  and 
you  '11  be  packing  your  blanket  on  your  back  and  look- 
ing for  work  before  snow  flies,"  was  his  way  of  sum- 
ming up. 

Still,  he  did  not  shoot. 

It  was  like  throwing  pebbles  at  the  bowlder  in  the 
Malad,  the  day  before. 

When  Phoebe  came  running  in  terror  toward  the 
fusillade,  with  Marie  and  her  swollen  face,  and  Evadna 


236  GOOD    INDIAN 

and  her  red  eyes  following  in  great  trepidation  far 
behind,  they  found  four  claim- jumpers  purple  from  long 
swearing,  and  the  boys  gleefully  indulging  in  revolver 
practice  with  various  camp  utensils  for  the  targets. 

They  stopped  when  their  belts  were  empty  as  well 
as  their  guns,  and  they  went  back  to  the  house  with  the 
women,  feeling  much  better.  Afterward  they  searched 
the  house  for  more  "  shells,"  clattering  from  room  to 
room,  and  looking  into  cigar  boxes  and  upon  out-of-the- 
way  shelves,  while  Phoebe  expostulated  in  the  immediate 
background. 

"  Your  father  would  put  a  stop  to  it  pretty  quick 
if  he  was  here,"  she  declared  over  and  over.  "  Just 
because  they  did  n't  shoot  back  this  time  is  no  sign 
they  won't  next  time  you  boys  go  to  hectoring  them." 
All  the  while  she  knew  she  was  wasting  her  breath,  and 
she  had  a  secret  fear  that  her  manner  and  her  tones 
were  unconvincing.  If  she  had  been  a  man,  she  would 
have  been  their  leader,  perhaps.  So  she  retreated  at  last 
to  her  favorite  refuge,  the  milk-house,  and  tried  to 
cover  her  secret  approval  with  grumbling  to  herself. 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  house.  The  boys,  it  trans- 
pired, had  gone  in  a  body  to  Hartley  after  more  car- 
tridges, and  the  cloud  of  dust  which  hovered  long  over 
the  trail  testified  to  their  haste.  They  returned  sur- 
prisingly soon,  and  they  would  scarcely  wait  for  their 


TARGET -PRACTICE         237 

supper  before  they  hurried  back  through  the  garden. 
One  would  think  that  they  were  on  their  way  to  a 
dance,  so  eager  they  were. 

They  dug  themselves  trenches  in  various  parts  of  the 
garden,  laid  themselves  gleefully  upon  their  stomachs, 
and  proceeded  to  exchange,  at  the  top  of  their  strong, 
young  voices,  ideas  upon  the  subject  of  claim-jumping, 
and  to  punctuate  their  remarks  with  leaden  periods 
planted  neatly  and  with  precision  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  one  of  the  four. 

They  had  some  trouble  with  Donny,  because  he  was 
always  jumping  up  that  he  might  yell  the  louder  when 
one  of  the  enemy  was  seen  to  step  about  uneasily  when- 
ever a  bullet  pinged  closer  than  usual,  and  the  rifles 
began  to  bark  viciously  now  and  then.  It  really  was 
unsafe  for  one  to  dance  a  clog,  with  flapping  arms  and 
taunting  laughter,  within  range  of  those  rifles,  and  they 
told  Donny  so. 

They  ordered  him  back  to  the  house ;  they  threw  clods 
of  earth  at  his  bare  legs ;  they  threatened  and  they  swore, 
but  it  was  not  until  Wally  got  him  by  the  collar  and 
shook  him  with  brotherly  thoroughness  that  Donny  re- 
treated in  great  indignation  to  the  house. 

They  were  just  giving  themselves  wholly  up  to  the 
sport  of  sending  little  spurts  of  loose  earth  into  the 
air  as  close  as  was  safe  to  Stanley,  and  still  much  too 


238  GOOD    INDIAN 

close  for  his  peace  of  mind  or  that  of  his  fellows,  when 
Donny  returned  unexpectedly  with  the  shotgun  and  an 
enthusiasm  for  real  bloodshed. 

He  fired  once  from  the  thicket  of  currant  bushes,  and, 
from  the  remarks  which  Stanley  barked  out  in  yelping 
staccato,  he  punctured  that  gentleman's  person  in  sev- 
eral places  with  the  fine  shot  of  which  the  charge  con- 
sisted. He  would  have  fired  again  if  the  recoil  had 
not  thrown  him  quite  off  his  balance,  and  it  is  pos- 
sible that  someone  would  have  been  killed  as  a  result. 
For  Stanley  began  firing  with  murderous  intent,  and 
only  the  dusk  and  Good  Indian's  opportune  arrival  pre- 
vented serious  trouble. 

Good  Indian  had  talked  long  with  Miss  Georgie,  and 
had  agreed  with  her  that,  for  the  present  at  least,  there 
must  be  no  violence.  He  had  promised  her  flatly  that 
he  would  do  all  in  his  power  to  keep  the  peace,  and  he 
had  gone  again  to  the  Indian  camp  to  see  if  Peppajee 
or  some  of  his  fellows  could  give  him  any  information 
about  Saunders. 

Saunders  had  disappeared  unaccountably,  after  a 
surreptitious  conference  with  Baumberger  the  day  be- 
fore, and  it  was  that  which  Miss  Georgie  had  to  tell 
him.  Saunders  was  in  the  habit  of  sleeping  late,  so 
that  she  did  not  know  until  noon  that  he  was  gone.  Pete 
was  worried,  and  garrulously  feared  the  worst.  The 


TARGET -PRACTICE         239 

worst,  according  to  Pete  Hamilton,  was  sudden  death  of 
a  hemorrhage. 

Miss  Georgie  asserted  unfeelingly  that  Saunders  was 
more  in  danger  of  dying  from  sheer  laziness  than 
of  consumption,  and  she  even  went  so  far  as  to  hint 
cynically,  that  even  his  laziness  was  largely  hypo- 
critical. 

"  I  don't  believe  there  's  a  single  honest  thing  about 
the  fellow,"  she  said  to  Good  Indian.  "  When  he 
coughs,  it  sounds  as  if  he  just  did  it  for  effect.  When 
he  lies  in  the  shade  asleep,  I  Ve  seen  him  watching 
people  from  under  his  lids.  When  he  reads,  his  ears 
seem  always  pricked  up  to  hear  everything  that 's  going 
on,  and  he  gives  those  nasty  little  slanty  looks  at  every- 
body within  sight.  I  don't  believe  he  's  really  gone  — 
because  I  can't  imagine  him  being  really  anything.  But 
I  do  believe  he  's  up  to  something  mean  and  sneaky,  and, 
since  Peppajee  has  taken  this  matter  to  heart,  maybe  he 
can  find  out  something.  I  think  you  ought  to  go  and 
see  him,  anyway,  Mr.  Imsen." 

So  Good  Indian  had  gone  to  the  Indian  camp,  and 
had  afterward  ridden  along  the  rim  of  the  bluff,  because 
Sleeping  Turtle  had  seen  someone  walking  through  the 
sagebrush  in  that  direction.  From  the  rim-rock  above 
the  ranch,  Good  Indian  had  heard  the  shooting,  though 
the  trees  hid  from  his  sight  what  was  taking  place,  and 


240  GOOD    INDIAN 

he  had  given  over  his  search  for  Saunders  and  made 
haste  to  reach  home. 

He  might  have  gone  straight  down  the  bluff  afoot, 
through  a  rift  in  the  rim-rock  where  it  was  possible 
to  climb  down  into  the  fissure  and  squeeze  out  through  a 
narrow  opening  to  the  bowlder-piled  bluff.  But  that 
took  almost  as  much  time  as  he  would  consume  in  rid- 
ing around,  and  so  he  galloped  back  to  the  grade  and 
went  down  at  a  pace  to  break  his  neck  and  that  of  Keno 
as  well  if  his  horse  stumbled. 

He  reached  home  in  time  to  see  Donny  run  across 
the  road  with  the  shotgun,  and  the  orchard  in  time  to 
prevent  a  general  rush  upon  Stanley  and  his  fellows  — 
which  was  fortunate.  He  got  them  all  out  of  the  garden 
and  into  the  house  by  sheer  determination  and  biting 
sarcasm,  and  bore  with  surprising  patience  their  angry 
upbraidings.  He  sat  stoically  silent  while  they  called 
him  a  coward  and  various  other  things  which  were  un- 
pleasant in  the  extreme,  and  he  even  smiled  when  they 
finally  desisted  and  trailed  off  sullenly  to  bed. 

But  when  they  were  gone  he  sat  alone  upon  the  porch, 
brooding  over  the  day  and  all  it  had  held  of  trouble  and 
perplexity.  Evadna  appeared  tentatively  in  the  open 
door,  stood  there  for  a  minute  or  two  waiting  for  some 
overture  upon  his  part,  gave  him  a  chilly  good-night 
when  she  realized  he  was  not  even  thinking  of  her,  and 


TARGET-PRACTICE 

left  him.  So  great  was  his  absorption  that  he  let  her  go, 
and  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  she  might  possibly 
consider  herself  ill-used.  He  would  have  been  distressed 
if  he  could  have  known  how  she  cried  herself  to  sleep, 
but,  manlike,  he  would  also  have  been  puzzled. 


OHAPTEE  XVIII 

A    SHOT    FEOM    THE    KIM-BOCK 

GOOD  INDIAN  was  going  to  the  stable  to  feed 
the  horses  next  morning,  when  something  whined 
past  him  and  spatted  viciously  against  the  side  of  the 
chicken-house.  Immediately  afterward  he  thought  he 
heard  the  sharp  crack  which  a  rifle  makes,  but  the 
wind  was  blowing  strongly  up  the  valley,  and  he  could 
not  be  sure. 

He  went  over  to  the  chicken-house,  probed  with  his 
knife-blade  into  the  plank  where  was  the  splintered 
hole,  and  located  a  bullet.  He  was  turning  it  curiously 
in  his  fingers  when  another  one  plunked  into  the  boards, 
three  feet  to  one  side  of  him ;  this  time  he  was  sure  of 
the  gun-sound,  and  he  also  saw  a  puff  of  blue  smoke 
rise  up  on  the  rim-rock  above  him.  He  marked  the 
place  instinctively  with  his  eyes,  and  went  on  to  the 
stable,  stepping  rather  more  quickly  than  was  his 
habit. 

Inside,  he  sat  down  upon  the  oats-box,  and  meditated 
upon  what  he  should  do.  He  could  not  even  guess  at 
his  assailant,  much  less  reach  him.  A  dozen  men  could 


A    SHOT   FROM   RIM-ROCK 

be  picked  off  by  a  rifle  in  the  hands  of  one  at  the  top, 
while  they  were  climbing  that  bluff. 

Even  if  one  succeeded  in  reaching  the  foot  of  the 
rim-rock,  there  was  a  forty-foot  wall  of  unscalable  rock, 
with  just  the  one  narrow  fissure  where  it  was  possible  to 
climb  up  to  the  level  above,  by  using  both  hands  to 
cling  to  certain  sharp  projections  while  the  feet  sought 
a  niche  here  and  there  in  the  wall.  Easy  enough  — 
if  one  were  but  left  to  climb  in  peace,  but  absolutely 
suicidal  if  an  enemy  stood  above. 

He  scowled  through  the  little  paneless  window  at 
what  he  could  see  of  the  bluff,  and  thought  of  the  mile- 
long  grade  to  be  climbed  and  the  rough  stretch  of  lava 
rock,  sage,  and  scattered  bowlders  to  be  gone  over  be- 
fore one  could  reach  the  place  upon  a  horse.  Whoever 
was  up  there,  he  would  have  more  than  enough  time 
to  get  completely  away  from  the  spot  before  it  would 
be  possible  to  gain  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  him. 

And  who  could  he  be  ?  And  why  was  he  shooting  at 
Good  Indian,  so  far  a  non-combatant,  guiltless  of  even 
firing  a  single  shot  since  the  trouble  began? 

Wally  came  in,  his  hat  far  back  on  his  head,  a 
cigarette  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  his  manner  an 
odd  mixture  of  conciliation  and  defiance,  ready  to  as- 
sume either  whole-heartedly  at  the  first  word  from  the 
man  he  had  cursed  so  unstintingly  before  he  slept.  He 


244  GOOD    INDIAN 

looked  at  Good  Indian,  caught  sight  of  the  leaden 
pellet  he  was  thoughtfully  turning  round  and  round 
in  his  fingers,  and  chose  to  ignore  for  the  moment  any 
unpleasantness  in  their  immediate  past. 

"  Where  you  ketchum  ? "  he  asked,  coming  a  bit 
closer. 

"  In  the  side  of  the  chicken-house."  Good  Indian's 
tone  was  laconic. 

Wally  reached  out,  and  took  the  bullet  from  him  that 
he  might  juggle  it  curiously  in  his  own  fingers.  "  I 
don't  think !  "  he  scouted. 

"  There  's  another  one  there  to  match  this,"  Good 
Indian  stated  calmly,  "  and  if  I  should  walk  over  there 
after  it,  I  '11  gamble  there  'd  be  more." 

Wally  dropped  the  flattened  bullet,  stooped,  and 
groped  for  it  in  the  litter  on  the  floor,  and  when  he 
had  found  it  he  eyed  it  more  curiously  than  before. 
But  he  would  have  died  in  his  tracks  rather  than  ask 
a  question. 

"  Did  n't  anybody  take  a  shot  at  you,  as  you  came 
from  the  house  ? "  Good  Indian  asked  when  he  saw  the 
mood  of  the  other. 

"  If  he  did,  he  was  careful  not  to  let  me  find  it  out." 
Wally's  expression  hardened. 

"  He  was  more  careless  a  while  ago,"  said  Good  In- 
dian. "  Some  fellow  up  on  the  bluff  sent  me  a  little 


A    SHOT    FROM    RIM-ROCK    245 

morning  salute.  But,"  he  added  slowly,  and  with 
some  satisfaction,  "  he  's  a  mighty  poor  shot." 

Jack  sauntered  in  much  as  Wally  had  done,  saw  Good 
Indian  sitting  there,  and  wrinkled  his  eyes  shut  in  a 
smile. 

"  Please,  sir,  I  never  meant  a  word  I  said !  "  he 
began,  with  exaggerated  trepidation.  "  Why  the  dickens 
did  n't  you  murder  the  whole  yapping  bunch  of  us, 
Grant  ? "  He  clapped  his  hand  affectionately  upon  the 
other's  shoulder.  "  We  kinda  run  amuck  yesterday 
afternoon,"  he  confessed  cheerfully,  "  but  it  sure  was 
fun  while  it  lasted!  " 

"  There  's  liable  to  be  some  more  fun  of  the  same 
kind,"  Wally  informed  him  shortly.  "  Good  Injun  says 
someone  on  the  bluff  took  a  shot  at  him  when  he  was 
coming  to  the  stable.  If  any  of  them  jumpers  — " 

"  It 's  easy  to  find  out  if  it  was  one  of  them,"  Grant 
cut  in,  as  if  the  idea  had  just  come  to  him.  "  We  can 
very  soon  see  if  they  're  all  on  their  little  patch  of  soil. 
Let 's  go  take  a  look." 

They  went  out  guardedly,  their  eyes  upon  the  rim- 
rock.  Good  Indian  led  the  way  through  the  corral,  into 
the  little  pasture,  and  across  that  to  where  the  long  wall 
of  giant  poplars  shut  off  the  view. 

"  I  admire  courage,"  he  grinned,  "  but  I  sure  do  hate 
a  fool."  Which  was  all  the  explanation  he  made  for 


246  GOOD    INDIAN 

the  detour  that  hid  them  from  sight  of  anyone  sta- 
tioned upon  the  bluff,  except  while  they  were  passing 
from  the  stable-door  to  the  corral;  and  that,  Jack  said 
afterward,  did  n't  take  all  day. 

Coming  up  from  the  rear,  they  surprised  Stanley 
and  one  other  peacefully  boiling  coffee  in  a  lard  pail 
which  they  must  have  stolen  in  the  night  from  the 
ranch  junk  heap  behind  the  blacksmith  shop.  The 
three  peered  out  at  them  from  a  distant  ambush,  made 
sure  that  there  were  only  two  men  there,  and  went  on 
to  the  disputed  part  of  the  meadows.  There  the  four 
were  pottering  about,  craning  necks  now  and  then  to- 
ward the  ranch  buildings  as  if  they  half  feared  an 
assault  of  some  kind.  Good  Indian  led  the  way  back 
to  the  stable. 

"  If  there  was  any  way  of  getting  around  up  there 
without  being  seen,"  he  began  thoughtfully,  "  but  there 
is  n't.  And  while  I  think  of  it,"  he  added,  "  we  don't 
want  to  let  the  women  know  about  this." 

"  They  7re  liable  to  suspect  something,"  Wally  re- 
minded dryly,  "  if  one  of  us  gets  laid  out  cold." 

Good  Indian  laughed.  "  It  does  n't  look  as  if  he 
could  hit  anything  smaller  than  a  haystack.  And  any- 
way, I  think  I  'm  the  boy  he  's  after,  though  I  don't 
see  why.  I  have  n't  done  a  thing  —  yet." 

"  Let 's  feed  the  horses  and  then  pace  along  to  the 


A   SHOT   FROM   RIM-ROCK 

house,  one  at  a  time,  and  find  out,"  was  Jack's  reckless 
suggestion.  "  Anybody  that  knows  us  at  all  can  easy 
tell  which  is  who.  And  I  guess  it  would  be  tolerably 
safe." 

Foolhardy  as  the  thing  looked  to  be,  they  did  it, 
each  after  his  own  manner  of  facing  a  known  danger. 
Jack  went  first  because,  as  he  said,  it  was  his  idea,  and 
he  was  willing  to  show  his  heart  was  in  the  right  place. 
He  rolled  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  wrinkled  his  eyes 
shut  in  a  laugh,  and  strolled  nonchalantly  out  of  the 
stable. 

"  Keep  an  eye  on  the  rim-rock,  boys,"  he  called  back, 
without  turning  his  head.  A  third  of  the  way  he  went, 
stopped  dead  still,  and  made  believe  inspect  something 
upon  the  ground  at  his  feet. 

"Ah,  go  on!"  bawled  Wally,  his  nerves  all  on  edge. 

Jack  dug  his  heel  into  the  dust,  blew  the  ashes  from 
his  cigarette,  and  went  on  slowly  to  the  gate,  passed 
through,  and  stood  well  back,  out  of  sight  under  the 
trees,  to  watch. 

Wally  snorted  disdain  of  any  proceeding  so  spec- 
tacular, but  he  was  as  he  was  made,  and  he  could  not 
keep  his  dare-devil  spirit  quite  in  abeyance.  He 
twitched  his  hat  farther  back  on  his  head,  stuck  his 
hands  deep  into  his  pockets,  and  walked  deliberately 
out  into  the  open,  his  neck  as  stiff  as  a  newly  elected 


248  GOOD    INDIAN 

politician  on  parade.  He  did  not  stop,  as  Jack  had  done, 
but  he  facetiously  whistled  "  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the 
boys  are  marching,"  and  he  went  at  a  pace  which  per- 
mitted him  to  finish  the  tune  before  he  reached  the  gate. 
He  joined  Jack  in  the  shade,  and  his  face,  when  he 
looked  back  to  the  stable,  was  anxious. 

"  It  must  be  Grant  he  wants,  all  right,"  he  muttered, 
resting  one  hand  on  Jack's  shoulder  and  speaking  so 
he  could  not  be  overheard  from  the  house.  "  And  I 
wish  to  the  Lord  he  'd  stay  where  he  's  at." 

But  Good  Indian  was  already  two  paces  from  the 
door,  coming  steadily  up  the  path,  neither  faster  nor 
slower  than  usual,  with  his  eyes  taking  in  every  object 
within  sight  as  he  went,  and  his  thumb  hooked  inside 
his  belt,  near  where  his  gun  swung  at  his  hip.  It 
was  not  until  his  free  hand  was  upon  the  gate  that  Jack 
and  Wally  knew  they  had  been  holding  their  breath. 

"  Well  —  here  I  am,"  said  Good  Indian,  after  a 
minute,  smiling  down  at  them  with  the  sunny  look  in 
his  eyes.  "  I  'm  beginning  to  think  I  had  a  dream. 
Only  " —  he  dipped  his  fingers  into  the  pocket  of  his 
shirt  and  brought  up  the  flattened  bullet  — "  that 's 
pretty  blamed  realistic  —  for  a  dream."  His  eyes 
searched  involuntarily  the  rim-rock  with  a  certain  in- 
credulity, as  if  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  in 
that  bullet,  after  all. 


A   SHOT   FROM   RIM-ROCK    249 

"  But  two  of  the  jumpers  are  gone,"  said  Wally. 
"  I  reckon  we  stirred  'em  up  some  yesterday,  and 
they  're  trying  to  get  back  at  us." 

"  They  've  picked  a  dandy  place,"  Good  Indian  ob- 
served. "  I  think  maybe  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to 
hold  that  fort  ourselves.  We  should  have  thought  of 
that;  only  I  never  thought — " 

Phoebe,  heavy-eyed  and  pale  from  wakefulness  and 
worry,  came  then,  and  called  them  in  to  breakfast. 
Gene  and  Clark  came  in,  sulky  still,  and  inclined  to 
snappishness  when  they  did  speak.  Donny  announced 
that  he  had  been  in  the  garden,  and  that  Stanley  told 
him  he  would  blow  the  top  of  his  head  off  if  he  saw 
him  there  again.  "  And  I  never  done  a  thing  to  him !  " 
he  declared  virtuously. 

Phosbe  set  down  the  coffee-pot  with  an  air  of  decision. 

"  I  want  you  boys  to  remember  one  thing,"  she  said 
firmly,  "  and  that  is  that  there  must  be  no  more  shoot- 
ing going  on  around  here.  It  is  n't  only  what  Baum- 
berger  thinks  —  I  don't  know  as  he  's  got  anything  to 
say  about  it  —  it 's  what  I  think.  I  know  I  'm  only 
a  woman,  and  you  all  consider  yourselves  men,  whether 
you  are  or  not,  and  it 's  beneath  your  dignity,  maybe, 
to  listen  to  your  mother. 

"  But  your  mother  has  seen  the  day  when  she  was 
counted  on  as  much,  almost,  as  if  she  'd  been  a  man. 


250  GOOD    INDIAN 

Why,  great  grief!  I  've  stood  for  hours  peeking  out  a 
knot-hole  in  the  wall,  with  that  same  old  shotgun  Donny 
got  hold  of,  ready  to  shoot  the  first  Injun  that  stuck 
his  nose  from  behind  a  rock."  The  color  came  into  her 
cheeks  at  the  memory,  and  a  sparkle  into  her  eyes. 
"  I  've  seen  real  fighting,  when  it  was  a  life-and-death 
matter.  I  've  tended  to  the  men  that  were  shot  before 
my  eyes,  and  I  've  sung  hymns  over  them  that.  died. 
You  boys  have  grown  up  on  some  of  the  stories  about 
the  things  I  've  been  through. 

"  And  here  last  night,"  she  reproached  irritatedly, 
"  I  heard  someone  say :  '  Oh,  come  on  —  we  're  scaring 
Mum  to  death! '  The  idea!  'Scaring  Mum! '  I  can 
tell  you  young  jackanapes  one  thing:  If  I  thought  there 
was  anything  to  be  gained  by  it,  or  if  it  would  save 
trouble  instead  of  making  trouble,  '  Mum '  could  go 
down  there  right  now,  old  as  she  is,  and  scared  as  she  is, 
and  clean  out  the  whole,  measly  outfit !  "  She  stared 
sternly  at  the  row  of  faces  bent  over  their  plates. 

"  Oh,  you  can  laugh  —  it 's  only  your  mother !  "  she 
exclaimed  indignantly,  when  she  saw  Jack's  eyes  go 
shut  and  Gene's  mouth  pucker  into  a  tight  knot.  "  But 
I  '11  have  you  to  know  I  'm  boss  of  this  ranch  when  your 
father  's  gone,  and  if  there  's  any  more  of  that  kid  fool- 
ishness to-day  —  laying  behind  a  currant  bush  and 
shooting  coffee-pots!  —  I  '11  thrash  the  fellow  that  starts 


A    SHOT    FROM    RIM-ROCK    251 

it !  It  is  n't  the  kind  of  fighting  /  've  been  used  to.  I 
may  be  away  behind  the  times  —  I  guess  I  am!  — but 
I  've  always  been  used  to  the  idea  that  guns  were  n't  to 
be  used  unless  you  meant  business.  This  thing  of  get- 
ting out  and  playing  gun-fight  is  kinda  sickening  to  a 
person  that 's  seen  the  real  thing. 

"  '  Scaring  Mum  to  death ! '  She  seemed  to  find  it 
very  hard  to  forget  that,  or  to  forgive  it.  " '  Scaring 
Mum ' —  and  Jack,  there,  was  born  in  the  time  of  an 
Indian  uprising,  and  I  laid  with  your  father's  revolver 
on  the  pillow  where  I  could  put  my  hand  on  it,  day  or 
night!  You  scare  Mum!  Mum  will  Scare  you,  if 
there  's  any  more  of  that  let  's-pl ay-Injun  business  going 
on  around  this  ranch.  Why,  I  'd  lead  you  down  there 
by  the  ear,  every  mother's  son  of  you,  and  tell  that  man 
Stanley  to  spank  you ! " 

"  Mum  can  whip  her  weight  in  wildcats  any  old 
time,"  Wally  announced  after  a  heavy  silence,  and 
glared  aggressively  from  one  foolish-looking  face  to 
another. 

As  was  frequently  the  case,  the  wave  of  Phoebe's 
wrath  ebbed  harmlessly  away  in  laughter  as  the  humor- 
ous aspect  of  her  tirade  was  brought  to  her  attention. 

"  Just  the  same,  I  want  you  should  mind  what  I  tell 
you,"  she  said,  in  her  old  motherly  tone,  "  and  keep 
away  from  those  ruffians  down  there.  You  can't  do 


252  GOOD   INDIAN 

anything  but  make  'em  mad,  and  give  'em  an  excuse  for 
killing  someone.  When  your  father  gets  back,  we  '11  see 
what 's  to  be  done." 

"  All  right,  Mum.  We  won't  look  toward  the  garden 
to-day,"  Wally  promised  largely,  and  held  out  his  cup 
to  her  to  be  refilled.  "  You  can  keep  my  gun,  if  you 
want  to  make  dead  sure." 

"  No,  I  can  trust  my  boys,  I  hope,"  and  she  glowed 
with  real  pride  in  them  when  she  said  it. 

Good  Indian  lingered  on  the  porch  for  half  an  hour 
or  so,  waiting  for  Evadna  to  appear.  She  may  have 
seen  him  through  the  window  —  at  any  rate  she  slipped 
out  very  quietly,  and  had  her  breakfast  half  eaten 
before  he  suspected  that  she  was  up;  and  when  he 
went  into  the  kitchen,  she  was  talking  animatedly  with 
Marie  about  Mexican  drawn-work,  and  was  drawing 
intricate  little  diagrams  of  certain  patterns  with  her 
fork  upon  the  tablecloth. 

She  looked  up,  and  gave  him  a  careless  greeting,  and 
went  back  to  discussing  certain  "  wheels  "  in  the  corner 
of  an  imaginary  lunch-cloth  and  just  how  one  went 
about  making  them.  He  made  a  tentative  remark  or 
two,  trying  to  win  her  attention  to  himself,  but  she 
pushed  her  cup  and  saucer  aside  to  make  room  for  fur- 
ther fork  drawings,  and  glanced  at  him  with  her  most 
exaggerated  Christmas-angel  look. 


A   SHOT   FROM   RIM-ROCK    253 

"  Don't  interrupt,  please,"  she  said  mincingly. 
"  This  is  important.  And,"  she  troubled  to  explain, 
"  I  'm  really  in  a  hurry,  because  I  'm  going  to  help 
Aunt  Phoebe  make  strawberry  jam." 

If  she  thought  that  would  fix  his  determination  to 
remain  and  have  her  to  himself  for  a  few  minutes,  she 
was  mistaken  in  her  man.  Good  Indian  turned  on  his 
heel,  and  went  out  with  his  chin  in  the  air,  and  found 
that  Gene  and  Clark  had  gone  off  to  the  meadow,  with 
Donny  an  unwelcome  attendant,  and  that  Wally  and 
Jack  were  keeping  the  dust  moving  between  the  gate 
and  the  stable,  trying  to  tempt  a  shot  from  the  bluff. 
They  were  much  inclined  to  be  skeptical  regarding  the 
bullet  which  Good  Indian  carried  in  his  breast-pocket. 

"  We  can't  raise  anybody,"  Wally  told  him  dis- 
gustedly, "  and  I  've  made  three  round  trips  myself. 
I  'm  going  to  quit  fooling  around,  and  go  to  work." 

Whether  he  did  or  not,  Good  Indian  did  not  wait 
to  prove.  He  did  not  say  anything,  either,  about  his 
own  plans.  He  was  hurt  most  unreasonably  because  of 
Evadna's  behavior,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  were  groping 
about  blindfolded  so  far  as  the  Hart  trouble  was  con- 
cerned. There  must  be  something  to  do,  but  he  could 
not  see  what  it  was.  It  reminded  him  oddly  of  when 
he  sat  down  with  his  algebra  open  before  him,  and 
scowled  at  a  problem  where  the  x  y  z's  seemed  to  be 


254  GOOD    INDIAN 

sprinkled  through  it  with  a  diabolical  frequency,  and 
there  was  no  visible  means  of  discovering  what  the  un- 
known quantities  could  possibly  be. 

He  saddled  Keno,  and  rode  away  in  that  silent  pre- 
occupation which  the  boys  called  the  sulks  for  want  of 
a  better  understanding  of  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
was  trying  to  put  Evadna  out  of  his  mind  for  the 
present,  so  that  he  could  think  clearly  of  what  he  ought 
to  do.  He  glanced  often  up  at  the  rim-rock  as  he  rode 
slowly  to  the  Point  o'  Rocks,  and  when  he  was  half- 
way to  the  turn  he  thought  he  saw  something  moving 
up  there. 

He  pulled  up  to  make  sure,  and  a  little  blue  ball 
puffed  out  like  a  child's  balloon,  burst,  and  dissipated 
itself  in  a  thin,  trailing  ribbon,  which  the  wind  caught 
and  swept  to  nothing.  At  the  same  time  something 
spatted  into  the  trail  ahead  of  him,  sending  up  a  little 
spurt  of  fine  sand. 

Keno  started,  perked  up  his  ears  toward  the  place, 
and  went  on,  stepping  gingerly.  Good  Indian's  lips 
drew  back,  showing  his  teeth  set  tightly  together. 
"  Still  at  it,  eh  ? "  he  muttered  aloud,  pricked  Keno's 
flanks  with  his  rowels,  and  galloped  around  the  Point. 

There,  for  the  time  being,  he  was  safe.  Unless  the 
shooter  upon  the  rim-rock  was  mounted,  he  must  travel 
swiftly  indeed  to  reach  again  a  point  within  range 


A    SHOT    FROM    RIM-ROCK 

of  the  grade  road  before  Good  Indian  would  pass  out 
of  sight  again.  For  the  trail  wound  in  and  out,  looping 
back  upon  itself  where  the  hill  was  oversteep,  hidden 
part  of  the  time  from  the  receding  wall  of  rock  by 
huge  bowlders  and  giant  sage. 

Grant  knew  that  he  was  safe  from  that  quarter,  and 
was  wondering  whether  he  ought  to  ride  up  along  the 
top  of  the  bluff  before  going  to  Hartley,  as  he  had 
intended. 

He  had  almost  reached  the  level,  and  was  passing 
a  steep,  narrow,  little  gully  choked  with  rocks,  when 
something  started  up  so  close  beside  him  that  Keno 
ducked  away  and  squatted  almost  upon  his  haunches. 
His  gun  was  in  his  hand,  and  his  finger  crooked  upon 
the  trigger,  when  a  voice  he  faintly  recognized  called  to 
him  softly: 

"  Yo'  no  shoot  —  no  shoot  —  me  no  hurtum.  All 
time  yo'  frien'."  She  stood  trembling  beside  the  trail, 
a  gay,  plaid  shawl  about  her  shoulders  in  place  of  the 
usual  blanket,  her  hair  braided  smoothly  with  bright, 
red  ribbons  entwined  through  it.  Her  dress  was  a  plain 
slip  of  bright  calico,  which  had  four-inch  roses,  very 
briery  and  each  with  a  gaudy  butterfly  poised  upon 
the  topmost  petals  running  over  it  in  an  inextricable 
tangle.  Beaded  moccasins  were  on  her  feet,  and  her 
eyes  were  frightened  eyes,  with  the  wistfulness  of  a 


256  GOOD    INDIAN 

timid  animal.  Yet  she  did  not  seem  to  be  afraid  of 
Good  Indian. 

"  I  sorry  I  scare  yo'  horse,"  she  said  hesitatingly, 
speaking  better  English  than  before.  "  I  heap  hurry  to 
get  here.  I  speak  with  yo'." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ? "  Good  Indian's  tone  was  not 
as  brusque  as  his  words;  indeed,  he  spoke  very  gently, 
for  him.  This  was  the  good-looking  young  squaw  he 
had  seen  at  the  Indian  camp.  "  What 's  your  name  ?  " 
he  asked,  remembering  suddenly  that  he  had  never 
heard  it. 

"Kachel.  Peppajee,  he  my  oncle."  She  glanced 
up  at  him  shyly,  then  down  to  where  the  pliant  toe  of 
her  moccasin  was  patting  a  tiny  depression  into  the 
dust.  "  Bad  mans  like  for  shoot  yo',"  she  said,  not 
looking  directly  at  him  again.  "  Him  up  there,  all  time 
walk  where  him  can  look  down,  mebbyso  see  you,  meb- 
byso  shootum." 

"  I  know  —  I  'm  going  to  ride  around  that  way  and 
round  him  up."  Unconsciously  his  manner  had  the 
arrogance  of  strength  and  power  to  do  as  he  wished, 
which  belongs  to  healthy  young  males. 

"  No-o,  no-o !  "  She  drew  a  sharp  breath.  "  Yo'  no 
good  there !  Him  shoot  yo'.  Yo'  no  go !  Ah-h  —  I 
sorry  I  tellum  yo'  now.  Bad  mans,  him.  I  watch,  I 
take  care  him  no  shoot.  Him  shoot,  mebbyso  I  shoot !  " 


A    SHOT    FROM    RIM-ROCK    257 

With  a  little  laugh  that  was  more  a  plea  for  gentle 
judgment  than  anything  else,  she  raised  the  plaid  shawl, 
and  gave  him  a  glimpse  of  a  rather  battered  revolver, 
cheap  when  it  was  new  and  obviously  well  past  its 
prime. 

"  I  want  yo' — "  she  hesitated ;  "  I  want  yo' —  be 
heap  careful.  I  want  yo'  no  ride  close  by  hill.  Ride 
far  out!  "  She  made  a  sweeping  gesture  toward  the 
valley.  "  All  time  I  watch." 

He  was  staring  at  her  in  a  puzzled  way.  She  was 
handsome,  after  her  wild,  half-civilized  type,  and  her 
anxiety  for  his  welfare  touched  him  and  besought  his 
interest. 

"  Indians  go  far  down  — "  She  swept  her  arm  down 
the  narrowing  river  valley.  "  Catch  fish.  Peppajee 
stay  —  no  can  walk  far.  I  stay.  .All  go,  mebbyso  stay 
five  days."  Her  hand  lifted  involuntarily  to  mark  the 
number. 

He  did  not  know  why  she  told  him  all  that,  and  he 
could  not  learn  from  her  anything  about  his  assailant. 
She  had  been  walking  along  the  bluff,  he  gathered  — 
though  why,  she  failed  to  make  clear  to  him.  She  had, 
from  a  distance,  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man  watching 
the  valley  beneath  him.  She  had  seen  him  raise  a 
rifle,  take  long  aim,  and  shoot  —  and  she  had  known  that 
he  was  shooting  at  Good  Indian. 


258  GOOD    INDIAN 

When  he  asked  her  the  second  time  what  was  her 
errand  up  there  —  whether  she  was  following  the  man, 
or  had  suspected  that  he  would  be  there  —  she  shook 
her  head  vaguely  and  took  refuge  behind  the  stolidity 
of  her  race. 

In  spite  of  her  pleading,  he  put  his  horse  to  scram- 
bling up  the  first  slope  which  it  was  possible  to  climb, 
and  spent  an  hour  riding,  gun  in  hand,  along  the  rim 
of  the  bluff,  much  as  he  had  searched  it  the  evening 
before. 

But  there  was  nothing  alive  that  he  could  discover, 
except  a  hawk,  which  lifted  itself  languorously  off  a 
high,  sharp  rock,  and  flapped  lazily  out  across  the  val- 
ley when  he  drew  near.  The  man  with  the  rifle  had 
disappeared  as  completely  as  if  he  had  never  been 
there,  and  there  was  not  one  chance  in  a  hundred  of 
hunting  him  out,  in  all  that  rough  jumble. 

When  he  was  turning  back  at  last  toward  Hartley, 
he  saw  Rachel  for  a  moment  standing  out  against  the 
deep  blue  of  the  sky,  upon  the  very  rim  of  the  bluff. 
He  waved  a  hand  to  her,  but  she  gave  no  sign ;  only,  for 
some  reason,  he  felt  that  she  was  watching  him  ride 
away,  and  he  had  a  brief,  vagrant  memory  of  the  wist- 
fulness  he  had  seen  in  her  eyes. 

On  the  heels  of  that  came  a  vision  of  Evadna  swing- 
ing in  the  hammock  which  hung  between  the  two  locust 


A    SHOT    FROM    RIM-ROCK    259 

trees,  and  he  longed  unutterably  to  be  with  her  there. 
He  would  be,  he  promised  himself,  within  the  next  hour 
or  so,  and  set  his  pace  in  accordance  with  his  desire, 
resolved  to  make  short  work  of  his  investigations  in 
Hartley  and  his  discussion  of  late  events  with  Miss 
Georgie. 

He  had  not,  it  seemed  to  him,  had  more  than  two 
minutes  with  Evadna  since  that  evening  of  rapturous 
memory  when  they  rode  home  together  from  the  Malad, 
and  afterward  sat  upon  the  stone  bench  at  the  head  of 
the  pond,  whispering  together  so  softly  that  they  did 
not  even  disturb  the  frogs  among  the  lily-pads  within 
ten  feet  of  them.  It  was  not  so  long  ago,  that  even- 
ing. The  time  that  had  passed  since  might  be  reckoned 
easily  in  hours,  but  to  Good  Indian  it  seemed  a  month, 
at  the  very  least. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

EVADNA    GOES    CALLING 

«T  HAVE  every  reason  to  believe  that  your  two 
JL  missing  jumpers  took  the  train  for  Shoshone  last 
night,"  Miss  Georgie  made  answer  to  Good  Indian's 
account  of  what  had  happened  since  he  saw  her.  "  Two 
furtive-eyed  individuals  answering  your  description 
bought  round-trip  tickets  and  had  me  flag  sixteen  for 
them.  They  got  on,  all  right.  I  saw  them.  And  if 
they  got  off  before  the  next  station  they  must  have 
landed  on  their  heads,  because  Sixteen  was  making  up 
time  and  Shorty  pulled  the  throttle  wide  open  at  the 
first  yank,  I  should  judge,  from  the  way  he  jumped 
out  of  town.  I  've  been  expecting  some  of  them  to 
go  and  do  their  filing  stunt  —  and  if  the  boys  have 
begun  to  devil  them  any,  the  chances  are  good  that 
they  'd  take  turns  at  it,  anyway.  They  'd  leave  someone 
always  on  the  ground,  that  'a  a  cinch. 

"  And  Saunders,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  "  returned 
safe  enough.  He  sneaked  in  just  before  I  closed  the 
office  last  night,  and  asked  for  a  telegram.  There 
was  n't  any,  and  he  sneaked  out  again  and  went  to  bed 


EVADNA   GOES    CALLING    261 

—  so  Pete  told  me  this  morning.  And  most  of  the  In- 
dians have  pulled  out  —  squaws,  dogs,  papooses,  and 
all  —  on  some  fishing  or  hunting  expedition.  I  don't 
know  that  it  has  anything  to  do  with  your  affairs,  or 
would  even  interest  you,  though.  And  there  has  been 
no  word  from  Peaceful,  and  they  can't  possibly  get  back 
now  till  the  four-thirty-five. 

"  And  that 's  all  I  can  tell  you,  Mr.  Imsen,"  she 
finished  crisply,  and  took  up  a  novel  with  a  significance 
which  not  even  the  dullest  man  could  have  ignored. 

Good  Indian  stared,  flushed  hotly,  and  made  for  the 
door. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  information.  I  'm  afraid  this 
has  been  a  lot  of  bother  for  you,"  he  said  stiffly,  gave 
her  a  ceremonious  little  bow,  and  went  his  way  stiff- 
necked  and  frowning. 

Miss  Georgie  leaned  forward  so  that  she  could  see 
him  through  the  window.  She  watched  him  cross  to 
the  store,  go  up  the  three  rough  steps  to  the  platform, 
and  disappear  into  the  yawning  blackness  beyond  the 
wide-open  door. 

She  did  not  open  the  novel  and  begin  reading,  even 
then.  She  dabbed  her  handkerchief  at  her  eyes,  mut- 
tered :  "  My  Heavens,  what  a  fool !  "  apropos  of  nothing 
tangible,  and  stared  dully  out  at  the  forlorn  waste  of 
cinders  with  rows  of  shining  rails  running  straight 


262  GOOD    INDIAN 

across  it  upon  ties  half  sunken  in  the  black  desolation, 
and  at  the  red  abomination  which  was  the  pump-house 
squatting  beside  the  dripping  tank,  the  pump  breath- 
ing asthmatically  as  it  labored  to  keep  the  sliding 
water  gauge  from  standing  at  the  figure  which  meant 
reproach  for  the  grimy  attendant. 

"  What  a  fool  —  what  a  fool !  "  she  repeated  at  the 
end  of  ten  moody  minutes.  Then  she  threw  the  novel 
into  a  corner  of  the  room,  set  her  lower  jaw  into  the 
equare  lines  of  stubbornness,  went  over  to  the  sleeping 
telegraph  instrument  which  now  and  then  clicked  and 
twittered  in  its  sleep,  called  up  Shoshone,  and  com- 
manded the  agent  there  to  send  down  a  quart  freezer 
of  ice  cream,  a  banana  cake,  and  all  the  late  magazines 
he  could  find,  including  —  especially  including  —  the 
alleged  "  funny  "  ones. 

"  You  certainly  —  are  —  the  prize  —  fool !  "  she 
said,  when  she  switched  off  the  current,  and  she  said 
it  with  vicious  emphasis.  Whereupon  she  recovered 
the  novel,  seated  herself  determinedly  in  the  berib- 
boned  rocker,  flipped  the  leaves  of  the  book  spitefully 
until  she  found  one  which  had  a  corner  turned  down, 
and  read  a  garden-party  chapter  much  as  she  used  to 
study  her  multiplication  table  when  she  was  ten  and 
hated  arithmetic. 

A  freight  was  announced  over  the  wire,  arrived  with 


EVADNA   GOES    CALLING    263 

a  great  wheezing  and  snorting,  which  finally  settled  to 
a  rhythmic  gasping  of  the  air  pump,  while  a  few  boxes 
of  store  supplies  were  being  dumped  unceremoniously 
upon  the  platform.  Miss  Georgie  was  freight  agent  as 
well  as  many  other  things,  and  she  went  out  and  stood 
bareheaded  in  the  sun  to  watch  the  unloading. 

She  performed,  with  the  unthinking  precision  which 
comes  of  long  practice,  the  many  little  duties  pertain- 
ing to  her  several  offices,  and  when  the  wheels  began 
once  more  to  clank,  and  she  had  waved  her  hand  to  the 
fireman,  the  brakeman,  and  the  conductor,  and  had 
seen  the  dirty  flags  at  the  rear  of  the  swaying  caboose 
flap  out  of  sight  around  the  low,  sage-covered  hill,  she 
turned  rather  dismally  to  the  parlor  end  of  the  office, 
and  took  up  the  book  with  her  former  air  of  grim  de- 
termination. So  for  an  hour,  perhaps. 

"  Is  Miss  Georgie  Howard  at  home  ? "  It  was 
Evadna  standing  in  the  doorway,  her  indigo  eyes  fixed 
with  innocent  gayety  —  which  her  mouth  somehow 
failed  to  meet  halfway  in  mirth  —  upon  the  reader. 

"  She  is,  chicken,  and  overjoyed  at  the  sight  of  you !  " 
Miss  Georgie  rose  just  as  enthusiastically  as  if  she  had 
not  seen  Evadna  slip  from  Huckleberry's  back,  fuddle 
the  tie-rope  into  what  looked  like  a  knot,  and  step 
lightly  upon  the  platform.  She  had  kept  her  head 
down  —  had  Miss  Georgie  —  until  the  last  possible 


264  GOOD    INDIAN 

second,  because  she  was  still  being  a  fool  and  had  per- 
mitted a  page  of  her  book  to  fog  before  her  eyes.  There 
was  no  fog  when  she  pushed  Evadna  into  the  seat  of 
honor,  however,  and  her  mouth  abetted  her  eyes  in 
smiling. 

"Everything  at  the  ranch  is  perfectly  horrid," 
Evadna  complained  pathetically,  leaning  back  in  the 
rocking-chair.  "  I  'd  just  as  soon  be  shut  up  in  a  grave- 
yard. You  can't  imagine  what  it 's  like,  Georgie,  since 
those  horrible  men  came  and  camped  around  all  over  the 
place !  All  yesterday  afternoon  and  till  dark,  mind  you, 
the  boys  were  down  there  shooting  at  everything  but  the 
men,  and  they  began  to  shoot  back,  and  Aunt  Phoebe 
was  afraid  the  boys  would  be  hit,  and  so  we  all  went 
down  and  —  oh,  it  was  awful !  If  Grant  had  n't  come 
home  and  stopped  them,  everybody  would  have  been 
murdered.  And  you  should  have  heard  how  they  swore 
at  Grant  afterward !  They  just  called  him  everything 
they  could  think  of  for  making  them  stop.  I  had  to 
sit  around  on  the  other  side  of  the  house  —  and  even 
then  I  could  n't  help  hearing  most  of  it. 

"  And  to-day  it 's  worse,  because  they  just  go  around 
like  a  lot  of  dummies  and  won't  do  anything  but  look 
mean.  Aunt  Phoebe  was  so  cross  —  cross,  mind  you ! 
—  because  I  burnt  the  jam.  And  some  of  the  jumpers 
are  missing,  and  nobody  knows  where  they  went — 


EVADNA    GOES    CALLING    265 

and  Marie  has  got  the  toothache  worse  than  ever,  and 
won't  go  and  have  it  pulled  because  it  will  hurt!  I 
don't  see  how  it  can  hurt  much  worse  than  it  does 
now  —  she  just  goes  around  with  tears  running  down 
into  the  flannel  around  her  face  till  I  could  shake  her !  " 
Evadna  laughed  —  a  self-pitying  laugh,  and  rocked  her 
small  person  violently.  "  I  wish  I  could  have  an  office 
and  live  in  it  and  telegraph  things  to  people/'  she 
sighed,  and  laughed  again  most  adorably  at  her  own 
childishness.  "  But  really  and  truly,  it 's  enough  to 
drive  a  person  crazy,  down  at  the  ranch !  " 

"  For  a  girl  with  a  brand-new  sweetheart  — "  Miss 
Georgie  reproved  quizzically,  and  reached  for  the 
inevitable  candy  box. 

"  A  lot  of  good  that  does,  when  he  's  never  there! " 
flashed  Evadna,  unintentionally  revealing  her  real 
grievance.  "  He  just  eats  and  goes  —  and  he  is  n't 
even  there  to  eat,  half  the  time.  And  when  he 's  there, 
he  's  grumpy,  like  all  the  rest."  She  was  saying  the 
things  she  had  told  herself,  on  the  way  up,  that  she 
would  die  rather  than  say;  to  Miss  Georgie,  of  all 
people. 

"  I  expect  he  's  pretty  worried,  chicken,  over  that 
land  business."  Miss  Georgie  offered  her  candy,  and 
Evadna  waved  the  box  from  her  impatiently,  as  if  her 
spirits  were  altogether  too  low  for  sweets. 


266  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  Well,  I  'm  very  sure  /  'm  not  to  blame  for  those 
men  being  there,"  she  retorted  petulantly.  "  He  " — 
she  hesitated,  and  then  plunged  heedlessly  on  — "  he 
acts  just  as  if  I  were  n't  anybody  at  all.  I  'm  sure,  if 
he  expects  me  to  be  a  doll  to  be  played  with  and  then 
dumped  into  a  corner  where  I  'm  to  smile  and  smile 
until  he  comes  and  picks  me  up  again  — " 

"  Now,  chicken,  what 's  the  use  of  being  silly  ?  " 
Miss  Georgie  turned  her  head  slightly  away,  and  stared 
out  of  the  window.  "  He  's  worried,  I  tell  you,  and 
instead  of  sulking  because  he  doesn't  stay  and  make 
love—" 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !     Just  as  if  I  wanted  — " 

"  You  really  ought  to  help  him  by  being  kind  and 
showing  a  little  sympathy,  instead — " 

"  It  appears  that  the  supply  of  sympathy  — " 

"  Instead  of  making  it  harder  for  him  by  feeling 
neglected  and  letting  him  see  that  you  do.  My  Heavens 
above !  "  Miss  Georgie  faced  her  suddenly  with  pink 
cheeks.  "  When  a  man  is  up  against  a  problem  — 
and  carries  his  life  in  his  hand  — " 

"  You  don't  know  a  thing  about  it ! "  Evadna 
stopped  rocking,  and  sat  up  very  straight  in  the  chair. 
"  And  even  if  that  were  true,  is  that  any  reason  why 
he  should  avoid  me  ?  I  'm  not  threatening  his  life !  " 

"  He  does  n't  avoid  you.     And  you  're  acting  sillier 


EVADNA   GOES    CALLING    267 

than  I  ever  supposed  you  could.  He  can't  be  in  two 
places  at  once,  can  he  ?  Now,  let 's  be  sensible,  chicken. 
Grant  — " 

"  Oh-h !  "  There  was  a  peculiar,  sliding  inflection 
upon  that  word,  which  made  Miss  Georgie's  hand  shut 
into  a  fist. 

"  Grant " —  Miss  Georgie  put  a  defiant  emphasis 
upon  it  — "  is  doing  all  he  can  to  get  to  the  bottom 
of  that  jumping  business.  There  's  something  crooked 
about  it,  and  he  knows  it,  and  is  trying  to — " 

"  I  know  all  that."  Evadna  interrupted  without 
apology. 

"  Well,  of  course,  if  you  do  —  then  I  need  n't  tell 
you  how  silly  it  is  for  you  to  complain  of  being  neg- 
lected, when  you  know  his  time  is  all  taken  up  with 
trying  to  ferret  out  a  way  to  block  their  little  game. 
He  feels  in  a  certain  sense  responsible  — " 

"  Yes,  I  know.  He  thinks  he  should  have  been  watch- 
ing somebody  or  something  instead  of  —  of  being  with 
me.  He  took  the  trouble  to  make  that  clear  to  me,  at 
least !  "  Evadna's  eyes  were  very  blue  and  very  bright, 
but  there  was  no  look  of  an  angel  in  her  face. 

Miss  Georgie  pressed  her  lips  together  tightly  for 
a  minute.  When  she  spoke,  she  was  cheerfully  imper- 
sonal as  to  tone  and  manner. 

"  Chicken,  you  're  a  little  goose.    The  man  is  simply 


268  GOOD    INDIAN 

crazy  about  you,  and  harassed  to  death  with  this  ranch 
business.  Once  that 's  settled  —  well,  you  '11  see  what 
sort  of  a  lover  he  can  be !  " 

"  Thank  you  so  much  for  holding  out  a  little  hope 
and  encouragement,  my  dear !  "  Evadna,  by  the  way, 
looked  anything  but  thankful;  indeed,  she  seemed  to 
resent  the  hope  and  the  encouragement  as  a  bit  of  un- 
warranted impertinence.  She  glanced  toward  the  door 
as  if  she  meditated  an  immediate  departure,  but  ended 
by  settling  back  in  the  chair  and  beginning  to  rock  again. 

"  It's  a  nasty,  underhand  business  from  start  to  fin- 
ish," said  Miss  Georgie,  ignoring  the  remark.  "  It  has 
upset  everybody  —  me  included,  and  I  'm  sure  it  is  n't 
my  affair.  It 's  just  one  of  those  tricky  cases  that  you 
know  is  rotten  to  the  core,  and  yet  you  can't  seem  to  get 
hold  of  anything  definite.  My  dad  had  one  or  two  ex- 
periences with  old  Baumberger  —  and  if  ever  there  was 
a  sly  old  mole  of  a  man,  he  's  one. 

"  Did  you  ever  take  after  a  mole,  chicken  ?  They 
used  to  get  in  our  garden  at  home.  They  burrow  under- 
neath the  surface,  you  know,  and  one  never  sees  them. 
You  can  tell  by  the  ridge  of  loose  earth  that  they  're 
there,  and  if  you  think  you've  located  Mr.  Mole,  and 
jab  a  stick  down,  why  —  he 's  somewhere  else,  nine 
times  in  ten.  I  used  to  call  them  Baumbergers,  even 
then.  Dad,"  she  finished  reminiscently,  "  was  always 


EVADNA    GOES    CALLING    269 

jabbing  his  law  stick  down  where  the  earth  seemed  to 
move  —  but  he  never  located  old  Baumberger,  to  my 
knowledge." 

She  stopped,  because  Evadna,  without  a  shadow  of 
doubt,  was  looking  bored.  Miss  Georgie  regarded  her 
with  the  frown  she  used  when  she  was  applying  her 
mental  measuring-stick.  She  began  to  suspect  that 
Evadna  was,  after  all,  an  extremely  self-centered  little 
person;  she  was  sorry  for  the  suspicion,  and  she  was 
also  conscious  of  a  certain  disappointment  which  was 
not  altogether  for  herself. 

"  Ah,  well  " —  she  dismissed  analysis  and  the  whole 
subject  with  a  laugh  that  was  partly  yawn  — "  away 
with  dull  care.  Away  with  dull  everything.  It 's  too 
hot  to  think  or  feel.  A  real  emotion  is  as  superfluous 
and  oppressive  as  a  —  a  flannel  petticoat !  "  This  time 
her  laugh  was  real  and  infectiously  carefree.  "  Take 
off  your  hat,  chicken.  I  '11  go  beg  a  hunk  of  ice  from 
my  dear  friend  Peter,  and  make  some  lemonade  as  is 
lemonade ;  or  claret  punch,  if  you  are  n't  a  blue- 
ribboner,  or  white-ribboner,  or  some  other  kind  of  a 
good-ribboner."  Miss  Georgie  hated  herself  for  sliding 
into  sheer  flippancy,  but  she  preferred  that  extreme  to 
the  other,  and  she  could  not  hold  her  ground  just  then 
at  the  "  happy  medium." 

Evadna,  however,  seemed  to  disapprove  of  the  flip- 


270  GOOD    INDIAN 

pancy.  She  did  not  take  off  her  hat,  and  she  stated 
evenly  that  she  must  go,  and  that  she  really  did  not  care 
for  lemonade,  or  claret  punch,  either. 

"  What,  in  Heaven's  name,  do  you  care  for  —  besides 
yourself  ? "  flared  Miss  Georgie,  quite  humanly  ex- 
asperated. "  There,  chicken  —  the  heat  always  turns 
me  snappy,"  she  repented  instantly.  "  Please  pinch 
me."  She  held  out  a  beautiful,  tapering  forearm,  and 
smiled. 

"  I  'm  the  snappy  one,"  said  Evadna,  but  she  did 
not  smile  as  she  began  drawing  on  her  gauntlets  slowly 
and  deliberately. 

If  she  were  waiting  for  Miss  Georgie  to  come  back 
to  the  subject  of  Grant,  she  was  disappointed,  for  Miss 
Georgie  did  not  come  to  any  subject  whatever.  A  hand- 
car breezed  past  the  station,  the  four  section-men  pump- 
ing like  demons  because  of  the  slight  down  grade  and 
their  haste  for  their  dinner. 

Huckleberry  gave  one  snort  and  one  tug  backward 
upon  the  tie  rope  and  then  a  coltish  kick  into  the  air 
when  he  discovered  that  he  was  free.  After  that,  he 
took  off  through  the  sagebrush  at  a  lope,  too  worldly-wise 
to  follow  the  trail  past  the  store,  where  someone  might 
rush  out  and  grab  him  before  he  could  dodge  away. 
He  was  a  wise  little  pinto  —  Huckleberry. 

"  And  now,  I  suppose  I  '11  have  the  pleasure  of  walk- 


EVADNA    GOES    CALLING    271 

ing  home,"  grumbled  Evadna,  standing  upon  the  plat- 
form and  gazing,  with  much  self-pity,  after  her  run- 
away. 

"  It 's  noon  —  stay  and  eat  dinner  with  me,  chicken. 
Some  of  the  boys  will  bring  him  back  after  you  the 
minute  he  gets  to  the  ranch.  It 's  too  hot  to  walk." 
Miss  Georgie  laid  a  hand  coaxingly  upon  her  arm. 

But  Evadna  was  in  her  mood  of  perversity.  She 
would  n't  stay  to  dinner,  because  Aunt  Phoebe  would 
be  expecting  her.  She  would  n't  wait  for  Huckleberry 
to  be  brought  back  to  her,  because  she  would  never 
hear  the  last  of  it.  She  did  n't  mind  the  heat  the  least 
bit,  and  she  would  walk.  And  no,  she  wouldn't  bor- 
row Miss  Georgie's  parasol ;  she  hated  parasols,  and  she 
always  had  and  always  would.  She  gathered  up  her 
riding-skirt,  and  went  slowly  down  the  steps. 

Miss  Georgie  could  be  rather  perverse  herself  upon 
occasion.  She  waited  until  Evadna  was  crunching 
cinders  under  her  feet  before  she  spoke  another  word, 
and  then  she  only  called  out  a  flippant,  "  Adios, 
senorita  !  " 

Evadna  knew  no  Spanish  at  all.  She  lifted  her 
shoulders  in  what  might  be  disdain,  and  made  no  reply 
whatever. 

"  Little  idiot !  "  gritted  Miss  Georgie  —  and  this  time 
she  was  not  speaking  of  herself. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MISS    GEOEGIE    ALSO     MAKES     A     CALL 

SAUNDERS,  limp  and  apathetic  and  colorless, 
shuffled  over  to  the  station  with  a  wheelbarrow 
which  had  a  decrepit  wheel,  that  left  an  undulating  im- 
print of  its  drunken  progress  in  the  dust  as  it  went.  He 
loaded  the  boxes  of  freight  with  the  abused  air  of  one 
who  feels  that  Fate  has  used  him  hardly,  and  then 
sidled  up  to  the  station  door  with  the  furtive  air  which 
Miss  Georgie  always  inwardly  resented. 

She  took  the  shipping  bill  from  him  with  her  finger- 
tips, reckoned  the  charges,  and  received  the  money 
without  a  word,  pushing  a  few  pieces  of  silver  toward 
him  upon  the  table.  As  he  bent  to  pick  them  up  — 
clawing  unpleasantly  with  vile  finger-nails  —  she 
glanced  at  him  contemptuously,  looked  again  more  at- 
tentively, pursed  her  lips  with  one  corner  between  her 
teeth,  and  when  he  had  clawed  the  last  dime  off  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  table,  she  spoke  to  him  as  if  he 
were  not  the  reptile  she  considered  him,  but  a  live 
human. 


MISS    GEORGIE'S    CALL     273 

"  Horribly  hot,  isn't  it  ?  I  wish  /  could  sleep  till 
noon.  It  would  make  the  days  shorter,  anyway." 

"  I  opened  up  the  store,  and  then  I  went  back  to 
bed,"  Saunders  replied  limply.  "  Just  got  up  when 
the  freight  pulled  in.  Made  so  blamed  much  noise  it 
woke  me.  I  seem  to  need  a  good  deal  of  sleep."  He 
coughed  behind  his  hand,  and  lingered  inside  the  door. 
It  was  so  unusual  for  Miss  Georgie  to  make  conversa- 
tion with  him  that  Saunders  was  almost  pitifully  eager 
to  be  agreeable. 

"  If  it  did  n't  sound  cruel,  this  weather,"  said  Miss 
Georgie  lightly,  still  looking  at  him  —  or,  more  par- 
ticularly, at  the  crumpled,  soiled  collar  of  his  coarse 
blue  shirt  —  "  I  'd  advise  you  to  get  out  of  Hartley  once 
a  day,  if  it  was  no  more  than  to  take  a  walk.  Though 
to  be  sure,"  she  smiled,  "  the  prospect  is  not  inviting, 
to  say  the  least.  But  it  would  be  a  change ;  I  'd  run 
up  and  down  the  track,  if  I  did  n't  have  to  stick  here 
in  this  office  all  day." 

"  I  can't  stand  walking,"  Saunders  whined.  "  It 
makes  me  cough."  To  illustrate,  he  gave  another  little 
hack  behind  his  hand.  "  I  went  up  to  the  stable  yester- 
day with  a  book,  and  laid  down  in  the  hay.  And  I 
went  to  sleep,  and  Pete  thought  I  was  lost,  I  guess." 
He  grinned,  which  was  not  pleasant,  for  he  chewed 
tobacco  and  had  ugly,  discolored  teeth  into  the  bargain. 


274  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  I  like  to  lay  in  the  hay,"  he  added  lifelessly.  "  I 
guess  I  '11  take  my  bed  up  there ;  that  lean-to  is  awful 
hot." 

"  Well,  you  're  lucky  that  you  can  do  exactly  as  you 
please,  and  sleep  whenever  you  please."  Miss  Georgie 
turned  to  her  telegraph  instrument,  and  began  talk- 
ing in  little  staccato  sparks  of  electricity  to  the  agent 
at  Shoshone,  merely  as  a  hint  to  Saunders  to  take  him- 
self away. 

"  Ain't  been  anything  for  me  ? "  he  asked,  still 
lingering. 

Miss  Georgie  shook  her  head.  He  waited  a  minute 
longer,  and  then  sidled  out,  and  when  he  was  heard 
crunching  over  the  cinders  with  his  barrow-load  of 
boxes,  she  switched  off  the  current  abruptly,  and  went 
over  to  the  window  to  watch  him. 

"  Item,"  she  began  aloud,  when  he  was  quite  gone, 
her  eyes  staring  vacantly  down  the  scintillating  rails  to 
where  they  seemed  to  meet  in  one  glittering  point  far 
away  in  the  desert.  "  Item  — "  But  whatever  the  item 
was,  she  jotted  it  down  silently  in  that  mental  memo- 
randum book  which  was  one  of  her  whims.  "  Once  I 
put  a  thing  in  that  little  blue  book  of  mine,"  she  used 
to  tell  her  father,  "  it 's  there  for  keeps.  And  there 's 
the  advantage  that  I  never  leave  it  lying  around  to  be 
lost,  or  for  other  people  to  pick  up  and  read  to  my  ever- 


MISS    GEORGIE'S    CALL     275 

lasting  undoing.  It 's  better  than  cipher  —  for  I  don't 
talk  in  my  sleep." 

The  four-thirty-five  train  came  in  its  own  time,  and 
brought  the  two  missing  placer  miners.  But  it  did  not 
bring  Baumberger,  nor  Peaceful  Hart,  nor  any  word  of 
either.  Miss  Georgie  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  staring 
out  of  the  window  toward  the  store  that  day,  and  when 
she  was  not  doing  that  she  was  moving  restlessly  about 
the  little  office,  picking  things  up  without  knowing 
why  she  did  so,  and  laying  them  down  again  when  she 
discovered  them  in  her  hands  and  had  no  use  for  them. 
The  ice  cream  came,  and  the  cake,  and  the  magazines ; 
and  she  left  the  whole  pile  just  inside  the  door  without 
undoing  a  wrapping. 

At  five  o'clock  she  rose  abruptly  from  the  rocker,  in 
which  she  had  just  deposited  herself  with  irritated  em- 
phasis, and  wired  her  chief  for  leave  of  absence  until 
seven. 

"  It 's  important,  Mr.  Gray.  Business  which  can't 
wait,"  she  clicked  urgently.  "  I  '11  be  back  before  Eight 
is  due.  Please."  Miss  Georgie  did  not 'of  ten  send  that 
last  word  of  her  own  volition.  All  up  and  down  the 
line  she  was  said  to  be  "  Independent  as  a  hog  on  ice  " 
— a  simile  not  pretty,  perhaps,  nor  even  exact,  but  fre- 
quently applied,  nevertheless,  to  self-reliant  souls  like 
the  Hartley  operator. 


276  GOOD    INDIAN 

Be  that  as  it  may,  she  received  gracious  permission 
to  lock  the  office  door  from  the  outside,  and  she  was  not 
long  in  doing  so,  and  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  relief  when 
it  was  done.  She  went  straight  to  the  store,  and  straight 
back  to  where  Pete  Hamilton  was  leaning  over  a  barrel 
redolent  of  pickled  pork.  He  came  up  with  dripping 
hands  and  a  treasure-trove  of  flabby  meat,  and  while  he 
was  dangling  it  over  the  barrel  until  the  superfluous 
brine  dripped  away,  she  asked  him  for  a  horse. 

"  I  dunno  where  Saunders  is  again,"  he  said,  letting 
his  consent  be  taken  for  granted.  "  But  I  '11  go  myself 
and  saddle  up,  if  you'll  mind  the  store.  Soon  as  I 
finish  waitin'  on  this  customer,"  he  added,  casting  a 
glance  toward  a  man  who  sat  upon  the  counter  and 
dangled  his  legs  while  he  apathetically  munched  stale 
pretzels  and  waited  for  his  purchases. 

"  Oh,  I  can  saddle,  all  right,  Pete.  I  Ve  got  two 
hours  off,  and  I  want  to  ride  down  to  see  how  the 
Harts  are  getting  along.  Exciting  times  down  there, 
from  all  accounts." 

"  Maybe  I  can  round  up  Saunders.  He  must  be 
somewheres  around,"  Pete  suggested  languidly,  wrap- 
ping the  pork  in  a  piece  of  brown  paper  and  reaching 
for  the  string  which  dangled  from  the  ball  hung  over 
his  head. 

"  Saunders  is  asleep,  very  likely.    If  he  is  n'f  in  his 


MISS    GEORGIE'S    CALL     277 

room,  never  mind  hunting  him.  The  horse  is  in  the 
stable,  I  suppose.  I  can  saddle  better  than  Saunders." 

Pete  tied  the  package,  wiped  his  hands,  and  went 
heavily  out.  He  returned  immediately,  said  that  Saun- 
ders must  be  up  at  the  stable,  and  turned  his  attention 
to  weighing  out  five  pounds  of  white  beans. 

Miss  Georgie  helped  herself  to  a  large  bag  of  mixed 
candy,  and  put  the  money  in  the  drawer,  laid  her  key 
upon  the  desk  for  safe-keeping,  repinned  her  white 
sailor  hat  so  that  the  hot  wind  which  blew  should  not 
take  it  off  her  head,  and  went  cheerfully  away  to  the 
stable. 

She  did  not  saddle  the  horse  at  once.  She  first 
searched  the  pile  of  sweet-smelling  clover  in  the  far 
end,  made  sure  that  no  man  was  there,  assured  herself 
in  the  same  manner  of  the  fact  that  she  was  absolutely 
alone  in  the  stable  so  far  as  humans  were  concerned,  and 
continued  her  search;  not  for  Saunders  now,  but  for 
sagebrush.  She  went  outside,  and  looked  carefully  at 
her  immediate  surroundings. 

"  There  's  hardly  a  root  of  it  anywhere  around  close," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  Nor  around  the  store,  either  — 
nor  any  place  where  one  would  be  apt  to  go  ordinarily." 

She  stood  there  meditatively  for  a  few  minutes,  re- 
membered that  two  hours  do  not  last  long,  and  saddled 
hurriedly.  Then,  mounting  awkwardly  because  of  the 


278  GOOD    INDIAN 

large,  lumpy  bag  of  candy  which  she  must  carry  in  her 
hands  for  want  of  a  pocket  large  enough  to  hold  it, 
she  rode  away  to  the  Indian  camp. 

The  camp  was  merely  a  litter  of  refuse  and  the  ashes 
of  various  campfires,  with  one  wikiup  standing  forlorn 
in  the  midst.  Miss  Georgie  never  wasted  precious  time 
on  empty  ceremony,  and  she  would  have  gone  into  that 
tent  unannounced  and  stated  her  errand  without  any 
compunction  whatever.  But  Peppajee  was  lying  out- 
side, smoking  in  the  shade,  with  his  foot  bandaged  and 
disposed  comfortably  upon  a  folded  blanket.  She  tossed 
him  the  bag  of  candy,  and  stayed  upon  her  horse. 

"  Howdy,  Peppajee  ?  How  your  foot  ?  Pretty 
well,  mebbyso  ?  " 

"  Mebbyso  bueno.  Sun  come  two  time,  mebbyso  walk 
all  same  no  snake  biteum."  Peppajee's  eyes  gloated  over 
the  gift  as  he  laid  it  down  beside  him. 

"  That 's  good.  Say,  Peppajee,"  Miss  Georgie 
reached  up  to  feel  her  hatpins  and  to  pat  her  hair, 
"  I  wish  you  'd  watch  Saunders.  Him  no  good.  I  think 
him  bad.  I  can't  keep  an  eye  on  him.  Can  you  ?  " 

"  No  can  walk  far."  Peppajee  looked  meaningly  at 
his  bandages.  "  No  can  watchum." 

"  Well,  but  you  could  tell  somebody  else  to  watch 
him.  I  think  he  do  bad  thing  to  the  Harts.  You  like 
Harts.  You  tell  somebody  to  watch  Saunders." 


MISS    GEORGIE'S    CALL     279 

"  Indians  pikeway  —  ketchum  fish.  Come  back, 
mebbyso  tellum  watchum." 

Miss  Georgie  drew  in  her  breath  for  further  argu- 
ment, decided  that  it  was  not  worth  while,  and  touched 
up  her  horse  with  the  whip.  "  Good-by,"  she  called 
back,  and  saw  that  Peppajee  was  looking  after  her 
with  his  eyes,  while  his  face  was  turned  impassively  to 
the  front. 

"  You  're  just  about  as  satisfying  to  talk  to  as  a 
stump,"  she  paid  tribute  to  his  unassailable  calm. 
"  There  's  four  bits  wasted/'  she  sighed,  "  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  trouble  I  had  packing  that  candy  to  you  — 
you  ungrateful  old  devil."  With  which  unladylike 
remark  she  dismissed  him  from  her  mind  as  a  possible 
ally. 

At  the  ranch,  the  boys  were  enthusiastically  blister- 
ing palms  and  stiffening  the  muscles  of  their  backs, 
turning  the  water  away  from  the  ditches  that  crossed 
the  disputed  tracts  so  that  the  trespassers  there  should 
have  none  in  which  to  pan  gold — or  to  pretend  that 
they  were  panning  gold.  Since  the  whole  ranch  was  irri- 
gated by  springs  running  out  here  and  there  from  under 
the  bluff,  and  all  the  ditches  ran  to  meadow  and  orchard 
and  patches  of  small  fruit,  and  since  the  springs  could 
not  well  be  stopped  from  flowing,  the  thing  was  not  to 
be  done  in  a  minute. 


280  GOOD    INDIAN 

And  since  there  were  four  boys  with  decided  ideas 
upon  the  subject  —  ideas  which  harmonized  only  in  the 
fundamental  desire  to  harry  the  interlopers,  the  thing 
was  not  to  be  done  without  much  time  being  wasted  in 
fruitless  argument. 

Wally  insisted  upon  running  the  water  all  into  a 
sandy  hollow  where  much  of  it  would  seep  away  and 
a  lake  would  do  no  harm,  the  main  objection  to  that  be- 
ing that  it  required  digging  at  least  a  hundred  yards  of 
new  ditch,  mostly  through  rocky  soil. 

Jack  wanted  to  close  all  the  headgates  and  just  let 
the  water  go  where  it  wanted  to  —  which  was  easy 
enough,  but  ineffective,  because  most  of  it  found  its 
way  into  the  ditches  farther  down  the  slope. 

Gene  and  Clark  did  not  much  care  how  the  thing  was 
done  —  so  long  as  it  was  done  their  way.  At  least,  that 
is  what  they  said. 

It  was  Good  Indian  who  at  length  settled  the  matter. 
There  were  five  springs  altogether;  he  proposed  that 
each  one  make  himself  responsible  for  a  certain  spring, 
and  see  to  it  that  no  water  reached  the  jumpers. 

"  And  I  don't  care  a  tinker's  dam  how  you  do  it," 
he  said.  "  Drink  it  all,  if  you  want  to.  I  '11  take  the 
biggest  —  that  one  under  the  milk-house."  Whereat 
they  jeered  at  him  for  wanting  to  be  close  to  Evadna. 

"  Well,  who  has  a  better  right  ? "  he  challenged,  and 


MISS    GEORGIE'S    CALL    281 

then  inconsiderately  left  them  before  they  could  think 
of  a  sufficiently  biting  retort. 

So  they  went  to  work,  each  in  his  own  way,  agreeing 
mostly  in  untiring  industry.  That  is  how  Miss  Georgie 
found  them  occupied  —  except  that  Good  Indian  had 
stopped  long  enough  to  soothe  Evadna  and  her  aunt, 
and  to  explain  that  the  water  would  really  not-  rise 
much  higher  in  the  milk-house,  and  that  he  did  n't 
believe  Evadna's  pet  bench  at  the  head  of  the  pond 
would  be  inaccessible  because  of  his  efforts. 

Phosbe  was  sloshing  around  upon  the  flooded  floor  of 
her  milk-house,  with  her  skirts  tucked  up  and  her  in- 
dignation growing  greater  as  she  gave  it  utterance, 
rescuing  her  pans  of  milk  and  her  jars  of  cream. 
Evadna,  upon  the  top  step,  sat  with  her  feet  tucked  up 
under  her  as  if  she  feared  an  instant  inundation.  She, 
also,  was  giving  utterance  to  her  feminine  irritation  at 
the  discomfort  —  of  her  aunt  presumably,  since  she 
herself  was  high  and  dry. 

"  And  it  won't  do  a  lit  of  good.  They  '11  just  knock 
that  dam  business  all  to  pieces  to-night — "  She  was 
scolding  Grant. 

"  Swearing,  chicken  ?  Things  must  be  in  a  great 
state !  " 

Grant  grinned  at  Miss  Georgie,  forgetting  for  the 
moment  his  rebuff  that  morning.  "  She  did  swear, 


282  GOOD    INDIAN 

did  n't  she  ?  "  he  confirmed  wickedly.  "  And  she  's  been 
working  overtime,  trying  to  reform  me.  Wanted  to  pin 
me  down  to  '  my  goodness ! '  and  '  oh,  -dear ! ' —  with 
all  this  excitement  taking  place  on  the  ranch !  " 

"  I  was  n't  swearing  at  all.  Grant  has  been  shoveling 
sand  all  afternoon,  building  a  dam  over  by  the  fence,  and 
the  water  has  been  rising  and  rising  till  — "  She  waved 
her  hand  gloomily  at  her  bedraggled  Aunt  Phoebe  work- 
ing like  a  motherly  sort  of  gnome  in  its  shadowy  grotto. 
"  Oh,  if  I  were  Aunt  Phoebe,  I  should  just  shake  you, 
Grant  Imsen !  " 

"  Try  it,"  he  invited,  his  eyes  worshiping  her  in  her 
pretty  petulance.  "  I  wish  you  would." 

As  Miss  Georgie  went  past  them  down  the  steps,  her 
face  had  the  set  look  of  one  who  is  consciously  and  de- 
liberately cheerful  under  trying  conditions. 

"Don't  quarrel,  children,"  she  advised  lightly. 
"  Howdy,  Mrs.  Hart  ?  What  are  they  trying  to  do  — 
drown  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  these  boys  of  mine!  They  '11  be  the  death  of 
me,  what  with  the  things  they  won't  do,  and  the  things 
they  will  do.  They  're  trying  now  to  create  a  water 
famine  for  the  jumpers,  and  they  're  making  their  own 
mother  swim  for  the  good  of  the  cause."  Phoebe  held 
out  a  plump  hand,  moist  and  cold  from  lifting  cool 
crocks  of  milk,  and  laughed  at  her  own  predicament. 


MISS    GEORGIE'S    CALL     283 

"  The  water  won't  rise  any  more,  Mother  Hart," 
Grant  called  down  to  her  from  the  top  step,  where  he 
was  sitting  unblushingly  beside  Evadna.  "  I  told  you 
six  inches  would  be  the  limit,  and  then  it  would  run 
off  in  the  new  ditch.  You  know  I  explained  just 
why—" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  you  explained  just  why"  Phoebe 
cut  in  disconsolately  and  yet  humorously,  "  but  explana- 
tions don't  seem  to  help  my  poor  milk-house  any.  And 
what  about  the  garden,  and  the  fruit,  if  you  turn  the 
water  all  down  into  the  pasture?  And  what  about  the 
poor  horses  getting  their  feet  wet  and  catching  their 
death  of  cold  ?  And  what 's  to  hinder  that  man  Stanley 
and  his  gang  from  packing  water  in  buckets  from  the 
lake  you  're  going  to  have  in  the  pasture  ? " 

She  looked  at  Miss  Georgie  whimsically.  "  I  'm  an 
ungrateful,  bad-tempered  old  woman,  I  guess,  for 
they  're  doing  it  because  it 's  the  only  thing  they  can 
do,  since  I  put  my  foot  down  on  all  this  bombarding 
and  burning  good  powder  just  to  ease  their  minds. 
They  Ve  got  to  do  something,  I  suppose,  or  they  'd  all 
burst.  And  I  don't  know  but  what  it 's  a  good  thing 
for  'em  to  work  off  their  energy  digging  ditches,  even  if 
it  don't  do  a  mite  of  good." 

Good  Indian  was  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  murmuring  lover's  confidences  behind  the 


284  GOOD    INDIAN 

shield  of  his  tilted  hat,  which  hid  from  all  but  Evadna 
his  smiling  lips  and  his  telltale,  glowing  eyes.  He 
looked  up  at  that  last  sentence,  though  it  is  doubtful 
if  he  had  heard  much  of  what  she  had  been  saying. 

"  It 's  bound  to  do  good  if  it  does  anything,"  he  said, 
with  an  optimism  which  was  largely  the  outgrowth  of 
his  beatific  mood,  which  in  its  turn  was  born  of  his 
nearness  to  Evadna  and  her  gracious  manner  toward 
him.  "  We  promised  not  to  molest  them  on  their  claims. 
But  if  they  get  over  the  line  to  meddle  with  our  water 
system,  or  carry  any  in  buckets  —  which  they  can't,  be- 
cause they  all  leak  like  the  deuce" — he  grinned  as  he 
thought  of  the  bullet  holes  in  them  —  "  why,  I  don't 
know  but  what  someone  might  object  to  that,  and  send 
them  back  on  their  own  side  of  the  line." 

He  picked  up  a  floating  ribbon-end  which  was  a 
part  of  Evadna's  belt,  and  ran  it  caressingly  through 
his  fingers  in  a  way  which  set  Miss  Georgie's  teeth 
together.  "  I  'm  afraid,"  he  added  dryly,  his  eyes  once 
more  seeking  Evadna's  face  with  pure  love  hunger, 
"  they  are  n't  going  to  make  much  of  a  stagger  at  placer 
mining,  if  they  haven't  any  water."  He  rolled  the 
ribbon  up  tightly,  and  then  tossed  it  lightly  toward  her 
face.  "  Are  they,  Goldilocks  ?  " 

"  Are  they  what  ?  I  've  told  you  a  dozen  times  to 
stop  calling  me  that.  I  had  a  doll  once  that  I  named 


MISS    GEORGIE'S    CALL    285 

Goldilocks/ and  I  melted  her  nose  off  —  she  was  wax  — 
and  you  always  remind  me  of  the  horrible  expression 
it  gave  to  her  face.  I  'd  go  every  day  and  take  her  out 
of  the  bureau-drawer  and  look  at  her,  and  then  cry  my 
eyes  out.  Won't  you  come  and  sit  down,  Georgie? 
There  's  room.  Now,  what  was  the  discussion,  and  how 
far  had  we  got?  Aunt  Phrebe,  I  don't  believe  it  has 
raised  a  bit  lately.  I  've  been  watching  that  black  rock 
with  the  crack  in  it."  Evadna  moved  nearer  to  Good 
Indian,  and  pulled  her  skirts  close  upon  the  other  side, 
thereby  making  a  space  at  least  eight  inches  wide  for 
Miss  Georgie's  accommodation. 

"  I  can't  sit  anywhere,"  said  Miss  Georgie,  looking 
at  her  watch.  "  By  the  way,  chicken,  did  you  have  to 
walk  all  the  way  home  ?  " 

Evadna  looked  sidelong  at  Good  Indian,  as  if  a 
secret  had  been  betrayed.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  I  did  n't. 
I  just  got  to  the  top  of  the  grade  when  a  squaw  came 
along,  and  she  was  leading  Huckleberry.  A  gaudy 
young  squaw,  all  red  and  purple  and  yellow.  She  was 
awfully  curious  about  you,  Grant.  She  wanted  to  know 
where  you  were  and  what  you  were  doing.  I  hope  you 
are  n't  a  flirtatious  young  man.  She  seemed  to  know 
you  pretty  well,  I  thought." 

She  had  to  explain  to  her  Aunt  Phoebe  and  Grant 
just  how  she  came  to  be  walking,  and  she  laughed  at  the 


286  GOOD    INDIAN 

squaw's  vivid  costume,  and  declared  she  would  have  one 
like  it,  because  Grant  must  certainly  admire  colors. 
She  managed,  innocently  enough,  to  waste  upon  such 
trivialities  many  of  Miss  Georgie's  precious  minutes. 

At  last  that  young  woman,  after  glancing  many 
times  at  her  watch,  and  declining  an  urgent  invitation 
to  stay  to  supper,  declared  that  she  must  go,  and  tried 
to  give  Good  Indian  a  significant  look  without  being  de- 
tected in  the  act  by  Evadna.  But  Good  Indian,  for 
the  time  being  wholly  absorbed  by  the  smiles  of  his  lady, 
had  no  eyes  for  her,  and  seemed  to  attach  no  especial 
meaning  to  her  visit.  So  that  Miss  Georgie,  feminine 
to  her  finger-tips  and  oversensitive  perhaps  where  those 
two  were  concerned,  suddenly  abandoned  her  real  ob- 
ject in  going  to  the  ranch,  and  rode  away  without  saying 
a  word  of  what  she  had  come  to  say. 

She  was  a  direct  young  woman  who  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  mincing  matters  with  herself,  or  of  dodging  an 
issue,  and  she  bluntly  called  herself  a  fool  many  times 
that  evening,  because  she  had  not  said  plainly  that  she 
would  like  to  talk  with  Grant  "  and  taken  him  off  to  one 
side  —  by  the  ear,  if  necessary  —  and  talked  to  him, 
and  told  him  what  I  went  down  there  to  tell  him,"  she 
said  to  herself  angrily.  "  And  if  Evadna  did  n't  like 
it,  she  could  do  the  other  thing.  It  does  seem  as  if 
girls  like  that  are  always  having  the  trail  smoothed 


MISS    GEORGIE'S    CALL     287 

down  for  them  to  dance  their  way  through  life,  while 
other  people  climb  over  rocks  —  mostly  with  packs  on 
their  shoulders  that  don't  rightly  belong  to  them." 
She  sighed  impatiently.  "  It  must  be  lovely  to  be  ab- 
solutely selfish  —  when  you  're  pretty  enough  and  young 
enough  to  make  it  stick !  "  Miss  Georgie  was,  without 
doubt,  in  a  nasty  temper  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SOMEBODY  SHOT  SAUNDERS 

THE  hot  days  dropped,  one  by  one,  into  the  past 
like  fiery  beads  upon  a  velvety  black  cord.  Miss 
Georgie  told  them  silently  in  the  meager  little  office, 
and  sighed  as  they  slipped  from  under  her  white,  nerv- 
ous fingers.  One  —  nothing  happened  that  could  be 
said  to  bear  upon  the  one  big  subject  in  her  mind,  the 
routine  work  of  passing  trains  and  dribbling  business 
in  the  express  and  freight  departments,  and  a  long 
afternoon  of  heat  and  silence  save  for  the  asthmatic 
pump,  fifty  yards  down  the  main  track.  Two  —  this 
exactly  like  the  first,  except  that  those  inseparables, 
Hagar,  Viney,  and  Lucy,  whom  Miss  Georgie  had  in- 
elegantly dubbed  "  the  Three  Greases,"  appeared,  silent, 
blanket-enshrouded,  and  perspiring,  at  the  office  door 
in  mid-afternoon.  Half  a  box  of  soggy  chocolates 
which  the  heat  had  rendered  a  dismally  sticky  mass 
won  from  them  smiles  and  half-intelligible  speech. 
Fishing  was  poor  —  no  ketchum.  Three  —  not  even 
the  diversion  of  the  squaws  to  make  her  forget  the  drag- 
ging hours.  Nothing  —  nothing  —  nothing,  she  told 


SAUNDERS    SHOT 

herself  apathetically  when  that  third  day  had  slipped 
upon  the  black  cord  of  a  soft,  warm  night,  star-sprinkled 
and  unutterably  lonely  as  it  brooded  over  the  desert. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  Miss  Georgie 
woke  with  the  vague  sense  that  something  had  gone 
wrong.  True  railroader  as  she  had  come  to  be,  she 
thought  first  that  there  had  been  a  wreck,  and  that 
she  was  wanted  at  the  telegraph  instrument.  She  was 
up  and  partly  dressed  before  the  steps  and  the  voices 
which  had  broken  her  sleep  had  reached  her  door. 

Pete  Hamilton's  voice,  trembling  with  excitement, 
called  to  her. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  cried  from 
within,  beset  by  a  hundred  wild  conjectures. 

"  Saunders  —  somebody  shot  Saunders.  Wire  for  a 
doctor,  quick  as  yuh  can.  He  ain't  dead  yet  —  but  he  's 
goin'  t'  die,  sure.  Hurry  up  and  wire  — "  Somebody 
at  the  store  called  to  him,  and  he  broke  off  to  run  lum- 
beringly  in  answer  to  the  summons.  Miss  Georgie 
made  haste  to  follow  him. 

Saunders  was  lying  upon  a  blanket  on  the  store  plat- 
form, and  Miss  Georgie  shuddered  as  she  looked  at  him. 
He  was  pasty  white,  and  his  eyes  looked  glassy  under 
his  half -closed  lids.  He  had  been  shot  in  the  side  — 
at  the  stable,  he  had  gasped  out  when  Pete  found  him 
lying  in  the  trail  just  back  of  the  store.  Now  he  seemed 


290  GOOD    INDIAN 

beyond  speech,  and  the  little  group  of  section-hands,  the 
Chinese  cook  at  the  section-house,  and  the  Swede  fore- 
man, and  Pete  seemed  quite  at  a  loss  what  to  do. 

"  Take  him  in  and  put  him  to  bed,"  Miss  Georgie 
commanded,  turning  away.  "  See  if  he  's  bleeding  yet, 
and  —  well,  I  should  put  a  cold  compress  on  the  wound, 
I  think.  I  '11  send  for  a  doctor  —  but  he  can't  get  here 
till  nine  o'clock  unless  you  want  to  stand  the  expense  of 
a  special.  And  by  that  time  — " 

Saunders  moved  his  head  a  trifle,  and  lifted  his 
heavy  lids  to  look  at  her,  which  so  unnerved  Miss 
Georgie  that  she  turned  and  ran  to  the  office.  When 
she  had  sent  the  message  she  sat  drumming  upon  the 
table  while  she  waited  for  an  answer. 

"  G-r-a-n- "  her  fingers  had  spelled  when  she  became 
conscious  of  the  fact,  flushed  hotly,  and  folded  her  hands 
tightly  together  in  her  lap. 

"  The  doctor  will  come — Hawkinson,  I  sent  for,"  she 
announced  later  to  Pete,  holding  out  the  telegram.  She 
glanced  reluctantly  at  the  wrinkled  blanket  where 
Saunders  had  lain,  caught  a  corner  of  her  under  lip 
between  her  teeth,  and,  bareheaded  though  she  was,  went 
down  the  steps  and  along  the  trail  to  the  stable. 

"  I  've  nearly  an  hour  before  I  need  open  the  office," 
she  said  to  herself,  looking  at  her  watch.  She  did  not 
say  what  she  meant  to  do  with  that  hour,  but  she  spent 


SAUNDERS    SHOT  291 

a  quarter  of  it  examining  the  stable  and  everything  in 
it.  Especially  did  she  search  the  loose,  sandy  soil  in 
its  vicinity  for  tracks. 

Finally  she  lifted  her  skirts  as  a  woman  instinctively 
does  at  a  street  crossing,  and  struck  off  through  the 
sagebrush,  her  eyes  upon  a  line  of  uncertain  footsteps 
as  of  a  drunken  man  reeling  that  way.  They  were  not 
easy  to  follow  —  or  they  would  not  have  been  if  she 
had  not  felt  certain  of  the  general  direction  which  they 
must  take.  More  than  once  she  lost  sight  of  them  for 
several  rods,  but  she  always  picked  them  up  farther 
along.  At  one  place  she  stopped,  and  stood  perfectly 
still,  her  skirts  held  back  tightly  with  both  hands,  while 
she  stared  fascinatedly  at  a  red  smear  upon  a  broken 
branch  of  sage  and  the  smooth-packed  hollow  in  the  sand 
where  he  must  have  lain. 

"  He  's  got  nerve  —  I  '11  say  that  much  for  him," 
she  observed  aloud,  and  went  on. 

The  footprints  were  plain  where  he  crossed  the  grade 
road  near  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  but  from  there  on  it 
was  harder  to  follow  them  because  of  the  great  patches 
of  black  lava  rock  lying  even  with  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  where  a  dozen  men  might  walk  abreast  and 
leave  no  sign  that  the  untrained  eye,  at  least,  could 
detect. 

"  This  is  a  case  for  Indians,"  she  mused,  frown- 


292  GOOD    INDIAN 

ing  over  an  open  space  where  all  was  rock.  "  Injun 
Charlie  would  hunt  tracks  all  day  for  a  dollar  or  two; 
only  he  'd  make  tracks  just  to  prove  himself  the  real 
goods."  She  sighed,  stood  upon  her  tiptoes,  and  peered 
out  over  the  sage  to  get  her  bearings,  then  started  on  at 
a  hazard.  She  went  a  few  rods,  found  herself  in  a 
thick  tangle  of  brush  through  which  she  could  not 
force  her  way,  started  to  back  out,  and  caught  her  hair 
on  a  scraggly  scrub  which  seemed  to  have  as  many 
prongs  as  there  are  briers  on  a  rosebush.  She  was 
struggling  there  with  her  hands,  fumbling  unavailingly 
at  the  back  of  her  bowed  head,  when  she  was  pounced 
upon  by  someone  or  something  through  the  sage.  She 
screamed. 

"  The  —  deuce !  "  Good  Indian  brought  out  the 
milder  expletive  with  the  flat  intonation  which  the  un- 
expected presence  of  a  lady  frequently  gives  to  a  man's 
speech.  "  Lucky  I  did  n't  take  a  shot  at  you  through 
the  bushes.  I  did,  almost,  when  I  saw  somebody  mov- 
ing here.  Is  this  your  favorite  place  for  a  morning 
ramble  ?  "  He  had  one  hand  still  upon  her  arm,  and 
he  was  laughing  openly  at  her  plight.  But  he  sobered 
when  he  stooped  a  little  so  that  he  could  see  her  face, 
for  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  Miss  Georgie  was 
not  the  sort  of  young  woman  whom  one  expects  to  shed 
tears  for  slight  cause. 


SAUNDERS    SHOT 

"  If  you  did  it  —  and  you  must  have  —  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  laugh  about  it,  even  if  he  is  a  crawling 
reptile  of  a  man  that  ought  to  be  hung !  "  The  tears 
were  in  her  voice  as  well  as  her  eyes,  and  there  were 
reproach  and  disappointment  also. 

"  Did  what  —  to  whom  —  to  where,  to  why  ?  "  Good 
Indian  let  go  her  arm,  and  began  helpfully  striving  with 
the  scraggly  scrub  and  its  prongs.  "  Say,  I'll  just  about 
have  to  scalp  you  to  get  you  loose.  Would  you  mind 
very  much,  Squaw-talk-f  ar-off  ? "  He  ducked  and 
peered  into  her  face  again,  and  again  his  face  sobered. 
"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  in  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent tone  —  which  Miss  Georgie,  in  spite  of  her  mood, 
found  less  satisfying  than  his  banter. 

"  Saunders  —  ouch;  I  'd  as  soon  be  scalped  and 
done  with,  as  to  have  you  pull  out  a  hair  at  a  time  — 
Saunders  crawled  home  with  a  bullet  in  his  ribs.  And 
I  thought  — " 

"  Saunders !  "  Good  Indian  stared  down  at  her, 
his  hands  dropped  upon  her  head. 

Miss  Georgie  reached  up,  caught  him  by  the  wrists, 
and  held  him  so  while  she  tilted  her  head  that  she  might 
look  up  at  him. 

"  Grant !  "  she  cried  softly.  "  He  deserved  it.  You 
could  n't  help  it  —  he  would  have  shot  you  down  like 
a  dog,  just  because  he  was  hired  to  do  it,  or  because  of 


294.  GOOD    INDIAN 

some  hold  over  him.  Don't  think  I  blame  you  —  or 
that  anyone  would  if  they  knew  the  truth.  I  came  out 
to  see  —  I  just  had  to  make  sure  —  but  you  must 
get  away  from  here.  You  should  n't  have  stayed  so 
long  — "  Miss  Georgie  gave  a  most  unexpected  sob,  and 
stopped  that  she  might  grit  her  teeth  in  anger  over  it. 

"  You  think  I  shot  him."  As  Good  Indian  said  it, 
the  sentence  was  merely  a  statement,  rather  than  an 
accusation  or  a  reproach. 

"  I  don't  blame  you.  I  suspected  he  was  the  man 
up  here  with  the  rifle.  That  day  —  that  first  day,  when 
you  told  me  about  someone  shooting  at  you  —  he  came 
over  to  the  station.  And  I  saw  two  or  three  scraps  of 
sage  sticking  under  his  shirt-collar,  as  if  he  had  been 
out  in  the  brush ;  you  know  how  it  breaks  off  and  sticks, 
when  you  go  through  it.  And  he  said  he  had  been 
asleep.  And  there  isn't  any  sage  where  a  man  would 
have  to  go  through  it  unless  he  got  right  out  in  it,  away 
from  the  trails.  I  thought  then  that  he  was  the  man  — ' 

"  You  did  n't  tell  me."  And  this  time  he  spoke  re- 
proachfully. 

"  It  was  after  you  had  left  that  I  saw  it.  And  I  did 
go  down  to  the  ranch  to  tell  you.  But  I  —  you  were  so 
—  occupied  —  in  other  directions  — "  She  let  go  his 
wrists,  and  began  fumbling  at  her  hair,  and  she  bowed 
her  head  again  so  that  her  face  was  hidden  from  him. 


Miss  Georgie  gave  a  most  unexpected  sob.     Page  294. 


SAUNDERS    SHOT  295 

"  You  could  have  told  me,  anyway,"  Good  Indian 
said  constrainedly. 

"  You  did  n't  want  her  to  know.  I  could  n't,  before 
her.  And  I  did  n't  want  to  —  hurt  her  by  — "  Miss 
Georgie  fumbled  more  with  her  words  than  with  her 
hair. 

"  Well,  there  '&  no  use  arguing  about  that."  Good 
Indian  also  found  that  subject  a  difficult  one.  "  You 
say  he  was  shot.  Did  he  say — " 

"  He  was  n't  able  to  talk  when  I  saw  him.  Pete  said 
Saunders  claimed  he  was  shot  at  the  stable,  but  I  know 
that  to  be  a  lie."  Miss  Georgie  spoke  with  unfeeling 
exactness.  "  That  was  to  save  himself  in  case  he  got 
well,  I  suppose.  I  believe  the  man  is  going  to  die, 
if  he  has  n't  already ;  he  had  the  look  —  I  've  seen  them 
in  wrecks,  and  I  know.  He  won't  talk;  he  can't.  But 
there  '11  be  an  investigation  —  and  Baumberger,  I  sus- 
pect, will  be  just  as  willing  to  get  you  in  this  way  as 
in  any  other.  More  so,  maybe.  Because  a  murder  is 
always  awkward  to  handle." 

"  I  can't  see  why  he  should  want  to  murder  me." 
Good  Indian  took  her  hands  away  from  her  hair,  and 
set  nimself  again  to  the  work  of  freeing  her.  "  You  've 
been  fudging  around  till  you  've  got  about  ten  million 
more  hairs  wound  up,"  he  grumbled. 

"  Wow !     Are  you  deliberately  torturing  me  ?  "  she 


296  GOOD    INDIAN 

complained,  winking  with  the  pain  of  his  good  inten- 
tions. "  I  don't  believe  he  does  want  to  murder  you. 
I  think  that  was  just  Saunders  trying  to  make  a  dandy 
good  job  of  it.  He  does  n't  like  you,  anyway  —  witness 
the  way  you  bawled  him  out  that  day  you  roped  — 
ow-w! — roped  the  dog.  Baumberger  may  have  wanted 
him  to  keep  an  eye  on  you  —  My  Heavens,  man !  Do 
you  think  you  're  plucking  a  goose  ?  " 

"  I  would  n't  be  surprised,"  he  retorted,  grinning  a 
little.  "  Honest,  I  'm  trying  to  go  easy,  but  this  in- 
fernal bush  has  sure  got  a  strangle  hold  on  you  —  and 
your  hair  is  so  fluffy  it 's  a  deuce  of  a  job.  You  keep 
wriggling  and  getting  it  caught  in  new  places.  If  you 
could  only  manage  to  stand  still  —  but  I  suppose  you 
can't. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  remarked  casually,  after  a  short 
silence,  save  for  an  occasional  squeal  from  Miss  Georgie, 
"  speaking  of  Saunders  —  I  did  n't  shoot  him." 

Miss  Georgie  looked  up  at  him,  to  the  further  en- 
tanglement of  her  hair.  "You  didn't?  Then  who 
did?" 

"  Search  me,"  he  offered  figuratively  and  briefly. 

"  Well,  I  will."  Miss  Georgie  spoke  with  a  certain 
decisiveness,  and  reaching  out  a  sage-soiled  hand,  took 
his  gun  from  the  holster  at  his  hip.  He  shrank  away 
with  a  man's  instinctive  dislike  of  having  anyone  make 


SAUNDERS    SHOT  297 

free  with  his  weapons,  but  it  was  a  single  movement, 
which  he  controlled  instantly. 

"  Stand  still,  can't  you  ? "  he  admonished,  and  kept 
at  work  while  she  examined  the  gun  with  a  dexterity 
and  ease  of  every  motion  which  betrayed  her  perfect 
familiarity  with  firearms.  She  snapped  the  cylinder 
into  place,  sniffed  daintily  at  the  end  of  the  barrel, 
and  slipped  the  gun  back  into  its  scabbard. 

"  Don't  think  I  doubted  your  word,"  she  said,  cast- 
ing a  slanting  glance  up  at  him  without  moving  her 
head.  "  But  I  wanted  to  be  able  to  swear  positively, 
if  I  should  happen  to  be  dragged  into  the  witness-box 
—  I  hope  it  won't  be  by  the  hair  of  the  head !  —  that 
your  gun  has  not  been  fired  this  morning.  Unless  you 
carry  a  cleaning  rod  with  you,"  she  added,  "  which 
would  hardly  be  likely." 

"  You  may  search  me  if  you  like,"  Good  Indian  sug- 
gested, and  for  an  engaged  young  man,  and  one  deeply 
in  love  withal,  he  displayed  a  contentment  with  the 
situation  which  was  almost  reprehensible. 

"  No  use.  If  you  did  pack  one  with  you,  you  'd  be 
a  fool  not  to  throw  it  away  after  you  had  used  it.  No, 
I  '11  swear  to  the  gun  as  it  is  now.  Are  you  ever  going 
to  get  my  hair  loose  ?  I  'm  due  at  the  office  right  this 
minute,  I  '11  bet  a  molasses  cooky."  She  looked  at  her 
watch,  and  groaned.  "  I  'd  have  to  telegraph  myself 


298  GOOD    INDIAN 

back  to  get  there  on  time  now,"  she  said.  "  Twenty- 
four  —  that  fast  freight  —  is  due  in  eighteen  minutes 
exactly.  I  've  got  to  be  there.  Take  your  jackknife  and 
cut  what  won't  come  loose.  Really,  I  mean  it,  Mr. 
Imsen." 

"  I  was  under  the  impression  that  my  name  is  Grant 
—  to  friends." 

"  My  name  is  '  Dennis,'  if  I  don't  beat  that  freight," 
she  retorted  curtly.  "  Take  your  knife  and  give  me  a 
hair  cut  —  quick!  I  can  do  it  a  different  way,  and 
cover  up  the  place." 

"Oh,  all  right  —  but  it's  a  shame  to  leave  a  nice 
bunch  of  hair  like  this  hanging  on  a  bush." 

"  Tell  me,  what  were  you  doing  up  here,  Grant  ? 
And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  We  have  n't  much 
time,  and  we've  been  fooling  when  we  should  have 
been  discussing  '  ways  and  means.' ' 

"  Well,  I  got  up  early,  and  someone  took  a  shot  at 
me  again.  This  time  he  clipped  my  hat-brim."  He 
took  off  his  hat,  and  showed  her  where  the  brim  had  a 
jagged  tear  half  an  inch  deep.  "  I  ducked,  and  made 
up  my  mind  I  'd  get  him  this  time,  or  know  the  reason 
why.  So  I  rode  up  the  other  way  and  back  behind  the 
orchard,  and  struck  the  grade  below  the  Point  o'  Rocks, 
and  so  came  up  here  hunting  him.  I  kept  pretty  well 
out  of  sight  —  we  've  done  that  before ;  Jack  and  I  took 


SAUNDERS    SHOT  299 

a  sneak  yesterday,  and  came  up  here  at  sunrise,  but  we 
could  n't  find  anything.  I  was  beginning  to  think  he 
had  given  it  up.  So  I  was  just  scouting  around  here 
when  I  heard  you  rustling  the  bushes  over  here.  I  was 
going  to  shoot,  but  I  changed  my  mind,  and  thought  I  'd 
land  on  you  and  trust  to  the  lessons  I  got  in  football  and 
the  gym.  And  the  rest,"  he  declaimed  whimsically, 
"  you  know. 

"  Now,  duck  away  down  —  oh,  wait  a  minute."  He 
gave  a  jerk  at  the  knot  of  his  neckerchief,  flipped  out 
the  folds,  spread  it  carefully  over  her  head,  and  tied  it 
under  her  chin,  patting  it  into  place  and  tucking  stray 
locks  under  as  if  he  rather  enjoyed  doing  it.  "  Better 
wear  it  till  you  're  out  of  the  brush,"  he  advised,  "  if 
you  don't  want  to  get  hung  up  somewhere  again." 

She  stood  up  straight,  with  a  long,  deep  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  Now,  pikeway"  he  smiled.  "  And  don't  run  bare- 
headed through  the  bushes  again.  You  've  still  got 
time  to  beat  that  train.  And  —  about  Saunders  — 
don't  worry.  I  can  get  to  the  ranch  without  being  seen, 
and  no  one  will  know  I  was  up  here,  unless  you  tell 
them." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  of  course !  "  Miss  Georgie  chose  to  be 
very  sarcastic.  "  I  think  I  shall  wire  the  information 
to  the  sheriff.  Don't  come  with  me  —  and  leave  tracks 


300  GOOD    INDIAN 

all  over  the  country.  Keep  on  the  lava  rock.  Have  n't 
you  got  any  sense  at  all  ?  " 

"  You  made  tracks  yourself,  madam,  and  you  've  left 
a  fine  lot  of  incriminating  evidence  on  that  bush.  I  '11 
have  to  waste  an  hour  picking  off  the  hair,  so  they 
won't  accuse  you  of  shooting  Saunders."  Good  Indian 
spoke  lightly,  but  they  both  stopped,  nevertheless,  and 
eyed  the  offending  bush  anxiously. 

"  You  have  n't  time,"  Miss  Georgie  decided.  "  I 
can  easily  get  around  that,  if  it 's  put  up  to  me.  You 
go  on  back.  Eeally,  you  must ! "  her  eyes  implored 
him. 

"  Oh,  vey-ree  well.  We  have  n't  met  this  morning. 
Good-by,  Squaw-talk-far-off.  I  '11  see  you  later,  per- 
haps." 

Miss  Georgie  still  had  that  freight  heavy  on  her  con- 
science, but  she  stood  and  watched  him  stoop  under  an 
overhanging  branch  and  turn  his  head  to  smile  reas- 
suringly back  at  her;  then,  with  a  pungent  stirring  of 
sage  odors,  the  bushes  closed  in  behind  him,  and  it  was 
as  if  he  had  never  been  there  at  all.  Whereupon  Miss 
Georgie  once  more  gathered  her  skirts  together  and  ran 
to  the  trail,  and  down  that  to  the  station. 

She  met  a  group  of  squaws,  who  eyed  her  curiously, 
but  she  was  looking  once  more  at  her  watch,  and  paid  no 
attention,  although  they  stood  huddled  in  the  trail  star- 


SAUNDERS    SHOT  301 

ing  after  her.  She  remembered  that  she  had  left  the 
office  unlocked  and  she  rushed  in,  and  sank  panting  into 
the  chair  before  her  telegraph  table  just  as  the  smoke  of 
the  fast  freight  swirled  around  the  nose  of  the  low,  sage- 
covered  hill  to  the  west. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A    BIT    OF    PAPER 

GOOD  INDIAN  came  out  upon  the  rim-rock, 
looked  down  upon  the  ranch  beneath  him,  and 
knew,  by  various  little  movements  about  the  place,  that 
breakfast  was  not  yet  ready.  Gene  was  carrying  two 
pails  of  milk  to  the  house,  and  Wally  and  Jack  were 
watering  the  horses  that  had  been  stabled  overnight.  He 
was  on  the  point  of  shouting  down  to  them  when  his 
arm  was  caught  tightly  from  behind.  He  wheeled 
about  and  confronted  Rachel.  Clothed  all  in  dull  gray 
she  was,  like  a  savage  young  Quakeress.  Even  the  red 
ribbons  were  gone  from  her  hair,  which  was  covered  by 
the  gray  blanket  wrapped  tightly  around  her  slim  body. 
She  drew  him  back  from  the  rim  of  the  bluff. 

"  You  no  shout,"  she  murmured  gravely.  "  ~No  let- 
turn  see  you  here.  You  go  quick.  Ketchum  you  cayuse, 
go  to  ranch.  You  no  tellum  you  be  this  place." 

Good  Indian  stood  still,  and  looked  at  her.  She  stood 
with  her  arms  folded  in  her  blanket,  regarding  him 
with  a  certain  yearning  steadfastness. 

"  You  all  time  think  why,"  she  said,  shrewdly  read- 


A    BIT    OF    PAPER  303 

ing  his  thoughts,  "I  no  take  shame.  I -glad."  She 
flushed,  and  looked  away  to  the  far  side  of  the  Snake. 
"  Bad  mans  no  more  try  for  shoot  you,  mebbyso.  I 
heap—" 

Good  Indian  reached  out,  and  caught  her  by  both 
shoulders. 

"  Rachel  —  if  you  did  that,  don't  tell  me  about  it. 
Don't  tell  me  anything.  I  don't  ask  you  —  I  don't 
want  to  know."  He  spoke  rapidly,  in  the  grip  of  his 
first  impulse  to  shield  her  from  what  she  had  done. 
But  he  felt  her  begin  to  tremble  under  his  fingers,  and 
he  stopped  as  suddenly  as  he  had  begun. 

"  You  no  glad  ?  You  think  shame  for  me  ?  You 
think  I  —  all  time  —  very  —  bad !  "  Tragedy  was  in 
her  voice,  and  in  her  great,  dark  eyes.  Good  Indian 
gulped. 

"  No,  Rachel.  I  don't  think  that.  I  want  to  help 
you  out  of  this,  if  I  can,  and  I  meant  that  if  you  did  n't 
tell  me  anything  about  it,  why  —  I  would  n't  know 
anything  about  it.  You  sdbe." 

"  I  sabe."  Her  lips  curved  into  a  pathetic  little 
smile.  "  I  sdbe  you  know  all  what  I  do.  You  know 
for  why,  me  thinkum.  You  think  shame.  I  no  take 
shame.  I  do  for  you  no  get  kill  —  dead.  All  time 
Man-that-coughs  try  for  shootum  you.  All  time  I  try 
for  — "  She  broke  off  to  stare  questioningly  up  into  his 


304  GOOD    INDIAN 

face.  "  I  no  tell,  you  no  like  for  tell,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  All  same,  you  go.  You  ketchum  you  boss,  you  go 
ranch.  I  think  sheriff  mans  mebbyso  come  pretty 
quick.  No  find  out  you  be  here.  I  no  like  you  be  here 
this  time." 

Good  Indian  turned,  yielding  to  the  pleading  of  her 
eyes.  The  heart  of  him  ached  dully  with  the  weight 
of  what  she  had  done,  and  with  an  uneasy  comprehen- 
sion of  her  reason  for  doing  it.  He  walked  as  quickly 
as  the  rough  ground  would  permit,  along  the  bluff  to- 
ward the  grade ;  and  she,  with  the  instinctive  deference 
to  the  male  which  is  the  heritage  of  primitive  woman, 
followed  soft-footedly  two  paces  behind  him.  Once 
where  the  way  was  clear  he  stopped,  and  waited  for 
her  to  come  alongside,  but  Kachel  stopped  and  waited 
also,  her  eyes  hungrily  searching  his  face  with  the  look 
a  dog  has  for  his  master.  Good  Indian  read  the  meaning 
of  that  look,  and  went  on,  and  turned  no  more  toward 
her  until  he  reached  his  horse. 

"  You  'd  better  go  on  to  camp,  and  stay  there, 
Rachel,"  he  said,  as  casually  as  he  could.  "  No  trouble 
will  come  to  you."  He  hesitated,  biting  his  lip  and 
plucking  absently  the  tangles  from  the  forelock  of  his 
horse.  "  You  sdbe  grateful  ?  "  he  asked  finally.  And 
when  she  gave  a  quick  little  nod,  he  went  on :  "  Well, 
I  'm  grateful  to  you.  You  did  what  a  man  would  do 


A    BIT    OF    PAPER  305 

for  his  friend.  I  sabe.  I  'm  heap  grateful,  and  I  '11 
not  forget  it.  All  time  I  '11  be  your  friend.  Good-by." 
He  mounted,  and  rode  away.  He  felt,  just  then,  that 
it  was  the  kindest  thing  he  could  do. 

He  looked  back  once,  just  as  he  was  turning  into  the 
grade  road.  She  was  standing,  her  arms  folded  in  her 
gray  blanket,  where  he  had  left  her.  His  fingers  tight- 
ened involuntarily  the  reins,  so  that  Keno  stopped  and 
eyed  his  master  inquiringly.  But  there  was  nothing 
that  he  might  say  to  her.  It  was  not  words  that  she 
wanted.  He  swung  his  heels  against  Keno's  flanks,  and 
rode  home. 

Evadna  rallied  him  upon  his  moodiness  at  breakfast, 
pouted  a  little  because  he  remained  preoccupied  under 
her  teasing,  and  later  was  deeply  offended  because  he 
would  not  tell  her  where  he  had  been,  or  what  was 
worrying  him. 

"  I  guess  you  better  send  word  to  the  doctor  he 
need  n't  come,"  the  pump  man  put  his  head  in  at  the 
office  door  to  say,  just  as  the  freight  was  pulling  away 
from  the  water-tank.  "  Saunders  died  a  few  minutes 
ago.  Pete  says  you  better  notify  the  coroner  —  and  I 
reckon  the  sheriff,  too.  Pretty  tough  to  be  shot  down 
like  that  in  broad  daylight." 

"  I  think  I  'd  rather  be  shot  in  daylight  than  in  the 


306  GOOD    INDIAN 

dark,"  Miss  Georgie  snapped  unreasonably  because  her 
nerves  were  all  a- jangle,  and  sent  the  messages  as  re- 
quested. 

Saunders  was  neither  a  popular  nor  a  prominent 
citizen,  and  there  was  none  to  mourn  beside  him. 
Peter  Hamilton,  as  his  employer  and  a  man  whose  emo- 
tions were  easily  stirred,  was  shocked  a  shade  lighter 
as  to  his  complexion  and  a  tone  lower  as  to  his  voice  per- 
haps, and  was  heard  to  remark  frequently  that  it  was 
"  a  turrible  thing,"  but  the  chief  emotion  which  the 
tragedy  roused  was  curiosity,  and  that  fluttering  excite- 
ment which  attends  death  in  any  form. 

A  dozen  Indians  hung  about  the  store,  the  squaws 
peering  inquisitively  in  at  the  uncurtained  window  of 
the  lean-to  — where  the  bed  held  a  long  immovable 
burden  with  a  rumpled  sheet  over  it  —  and  the  bucks 
listening  stolidly  to  the  futile  gossip  on  the  store  porch. 

Pete  Hamilton,  anxious  that  the  passing  of  his  un- 
profitable servant  should  be  marked  by  decorum  if  not 
by  grief,  mentally  classed  the  event  with  election  day, 
in  that  he  refused  to  sell  any  liquor  until  the  sheriff 
and  coroner  arrived.  He  also,  after  his  first  be- 
wilderment had  passed,  conceived  the  idea  that  Saun- 
ders had  committed  suicide,  and  explained  to  every- 
one who  would  listen  just  why  he  believed  it.  Saunders 
was  sickly,  for  one  thing.  For  another,  Saunders  never 


A   BIT    OF   PAPER  307 

seemed  to  get  any  good  out  of  living.  He  had  read 
everything  he  could  get  his  hands  on  —  and  though 
Pete  did  not  say  that  Saunders  chose  to  die  when  the 
stock  of  paper  novels  was  exhausted,  he  left  that  im- 
pression upon  his  auditors. 

The  sheriff  and  the  coroner  came  at  nine.  All  the 
Hart  boys,  including  Donny,  were  there  before  noon, 
and  the  group  of  Indians  remained  all  day  wherever  the 
store  cast  its  shadow.  Squaws  and  bucks  passed  and 
repassed  upon  the  footpath  between  Hartley  and  their 
camp,  chattering  together  of  the  big  event  until  they 
came  under  the  eye  of  strange  white  men,  whereupon 
they  were  stricken  deaf  and  dumb,  as  is  the  way  of  our 
nation's  wards. 

When  the  sheriff  inspected  the  stable  and  its  vicinity, 
looking  for  clews,  not  a  blanket  was  in  sight,  though 
a  dozen  eyes  watched  every  movement  suspiciously. 
When  at  the  inquest  that  afternoon,  he  laid  upon  the 
table  a  battered  old  revolver  of  cheap  workmanship  and 
long  past  its  prime,  and  testified  that  he  had  found  it 
ten  feet  from  the  stable-door,  in  a  due  line  southeast 
from  the  hay-corral,  and  that  one  shot  had  been  fired 
from  it,  there  were  Indians  in  plenty  to  glance  furtively 
at  the  weapon  and  give  no  sign. 

The  coroner  showed  the  bullet  which  he  had  extracted 
from  the  body  of  Saunders,  and  fitted  it  into  the  empty 


308  GOOD   INDIAN 

cartridge  which  had  been  under  the  hammer  in  the 
revolver,  and  thereby  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  every- 
one that  the  gun  was  intimately  connected  with  the 
death  of  the  man.  So  the  jury  arrived  speedily,  and 
without  further  fussing  over  evidence,  at  the  verdict 
of  suicide. 

Good  Indian  drew  a  long  breath,  put  on  his  hat,  and 
went  over  to  tell  Miss  Georgie.  The  Hart  boys  lingered 
for  a  few  minutes  at  the  store,  and  then  rode  on  to  the 
ranch  without  him,  and  the  Indians  stole  away  over  the 
hill  to  their  camp.  The  coroner  and  the  sheriff  accepted 
Pete's  invitation  into  the  back  part  of  the  store,  re- 
freshed themselves  after  the  ordeal,  and  caught  the  next 
train  for  Shoshone.  So  closed  the  incident  of  Saunders' 
passing,  so  far  as  the  law  was  concerned. 

"  Well,"  Miss  Georgie  summed  up  the  situation, 
"  Baumberger  has  n't  made  any  sign  of  taking  up  the 
matter.  I  don't  believe,  now,  that  he  will.  I  wired 
the  news  to  the  papers  in  Shoshone,  so  he  must  know. 
I  think  perhaps  he 's  glad  to  get  Saunders  out  of  the 
way  —  for  he  certainly  must  have  known  enough  to 
put  Baumberger  behind  the  bars. 

"  But  I  don't  see,"  she  said,  in  a  puzzled  way, 
"  how  that  gun  came  onto  the  scene.  I  looked  all 
around  the  stable  this  morning,  and  I  could  swear  there 
was  n't  any  gun." 


A    BIT    OF    PAPER  309 

"  Well,  he  did  pick  it  up  —  fortunately,"  Good  In- 
dian returned  grimly.  "I'm  glad  the  thing  was  settled 
so  easily." 

She  looked  up  at  him  sharply  for  a  moment,  opened 
her  lips  to  ask  a  question,  and  then  thought  better 
of  it. 

"  Oh,  here  's  your  handkerchief,"  she  said  quietly, 
taking  it  from  the  bottom  of  her  wastebasket.  "  As  you 
say,  the  thing  is  settled.  I  'm  going  to  turn  you  out 
now.  The  four-thirty-five  is  due  pretty  soon  —  and  I 
have  oodles  of  work." 

He  looked  at  her  strangely,  and  went  away,  wonder- 
ing why  Miss  Georgie  hated  so  to  have  him  in  the  office 
lately. 

On  the  next  day,  at  ten  o'clock,  they  buried  Saunders 
on  a  certain  little  knoll  among  the  sagebrush;  buried 
him  without  much  ceremony,  it  is  true,  but  with  more 
respect  than  he  had  received  when  he  was  alive  and 
shambling  sneakily  among  them.  Good  Indian  was 
there,  saying  little  and  listening  attentively  to  the  com- 
ments made  upon  the  subject,  and  when  the  last  bit 
of  yellow  gravel  had  been  spatted  into  place  he  rode 
down  through  the  Indian  camp  on  his  way  home,  thank- 
ful that  everyone  seemed  to  accept  the  verdict  of  sui- 
cide as  being  final,  and  anxious  that  Rachel  should 
know  it.  He  felt  rather  queer  about  Rachel ;  sorry  for 


310  GOOD    INDIAN 

her,  in  an  impersonal  way;  curious  over  her  attitude 
toward  life  in  general  and  toward  himself  in  particular, 
and  ready  to  do  her  a  good  turn  because  of  her  interest 
in  him. 

But  Rachel,  when  he  reached  the  camp,  was  not 
visible.  Peppajee  Jim  was  sitting  peacefully  in  the 
shade  of  his  wikiup  when  Grant  rode  up,  and  he  merely 
grunted  in  reply  to  a  question  or  two.  Good  Indian 
resolved  to  be  patient.  He  dismounted,  and  squatted 
upon  his  heels  beside  Peppajee,  offered  him  tobacco, 
and  flipped  a  shiny,  new  nickel  toward  a  bright-eyed 
papoose  in  scanty  raiment,  who  stopped  to  regard  him 
inquisitively. 

"  I  just  saw  them  bury  Saunders,"  Good  Indian  re- 
marked, by  way  of  opening  a  conversation.  "  You  be- 
lieve he  shot  himself  ?  " 

Peppajee  took  his  little  stone  pipe  from  his  lips, 
blew  a  thin  wreath  of  smoke,  and  replaced  the  stem 
between  his  teeth,  stared  stolidly  straight  ahead  of  him, 
and  said  nothing. 

"  All  the  white  men  say  that,"  Good  Indian  per- 
sisted, after  he  had  waited  a  minute.  Peppajee  did 
not  seem  to  hear. 

"  Sheriff  say  that,  too.     Sheriff  found  the  gun." 

"Mebbyso  sheriff  mans  heap  damfool.  Mebbyso 
heap  smart.  No  scibe" 


A   BIT    OF   PAPER  311 

Good  Indian  studied  him  silently.  Reticence  was 
not  a  general  characteristic  of  Peppajee;  it  seemed  to 
indicate  a  thorough  understanding  of  the  whole  affair. 
He  wondered  if  Rachel  had  told  her  uncle  the 
truth. 

"  Where  's  Rachel  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly,  the  words 
following  involuntarily  his  thought. 

Peppajee  sucked  hard  upon  his  pipe,  took  it  away 
from  his  mouth,  and  knocked  out  the  ashes  upon  a  pole 
of  the  wikiup  frame. 

"  Yo'  no  speakum  Rachel  no  more,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  Yo'  ketchum  'Vadnah ;  no  ketchum  otha  squaw.  Bad 
medicine  come.  Heap  much  troubles  come.  Me  no 
likeum.  My  heart  heap  bad." 

"  I  'm  Rachel's  friend,  Peppajee."  Good  Indian 
spoke  softly  so  that  others  might  not  hear.  "  I  sabe 
what  Rachel  do.  Rachel  good  girl.  I  don't  want  to 
bring  trouble.  I  want  to  help." 

Peppajee  snorted. 

"  Yo'  make  heap  bad  heart  for  Rachel,"  he  said 
sourly.  "  Yo'  like  for  be  friend,  yo'  no  come  no  more, 
mebbyso.  No  speakum.  Bimeby  mebbyso  no  have  bad 
heart  no  more.  Kay  bueno.  Yo'  white  mans.  Rachel 
mebbyso  thinkum  all  time  yo'  Indian.  Mebbyso 
thinkum  be  yo'  squaw.  Kay  bueno.  Yo'  all  time  white 
mans.  No  speakum  Rachel  no  more,  yo'  be  friend. 


312  GOOD    INDIAN 

Yo'  speakum,  me  like  to  kill  yo',  mebbyso."  He  spoke 
calmly,  but  none  the  less  his  words  carried  conviction 
of  his  sincerity. 

Within  the  wikiup  Good  Indian  heard  a  smothered 
sob.  He  listened,  heard  it  again,  and  looked  challen- 
gingly  at  Peppajee.  But  Peppajee  gave  no  sign  that  he 
either  heard  the  sound  or  saw  the  challenge  in  Good 
Indian's  eyes. 

"  I  Rachel's  friend,"  he  said,  speaking  distinctly 
with  his  face  half  turned  toward  the  wall  of  deerskin. 
"  I  want  to  tell  Rachel  what  the  sheriff  said.  I  want 
to  thank  Rachel,  and  tell  her  I  'm  her  friend.  I  don't 
want  to  bring  trouble."  He  stopped  and  listened,  but 
there  was  no  sound  within. 

Peppajee  eyed  him  comprehendingly,  but  there  was 
no  yielding  in  his  brown,  wrinkled  face. 

"  Yo'  Rachel's  frien',  yo'  pikeway"  he  insisted 
doggedly. 

From  under  the  wall  of  the  wikiup  close  to  Good 
Indian  on  the  side  farthest  from  Peppajee,  a  small,  leaf- 
less branch  of  sage  was  thrust  out,  and  waggled  cau- 
tiously, scraping  gently  his  hand.  Good  Indian's 
fingers  closed  upon 'it  instinctively,  and  felt  it  slowly 
withdrawn  until  his  hand  was  pressed  against  the  hide 
wall.  Then  soft  fingers  touched  his  own,  fluttered  there 
timidly,  and  left  in  his  palm  a  bit  of  paper,  tightly 


A   BIT   OF   PAPER  318 

folded.  Good  Indian  closed  his  hand  upon  it,  and 
stood  up. 

"  All  right,  I  go,"  he  said  calmly  to  Peppajee,  and 
mounted. 

Peppajee  looked  at  him  stolidly,  and  said  nothing. 

"  One  thing  I  would  like  to  know."  Good  Indian 
spoke  again.  "  You  don't  care  any  more  about  the 
men  taking  Peaceful's  ranch.  Before  they  came,  you 
watch  all  the  time,  you  heap  care.  Why  you  no  care 
any  more  ?  Why  you  no  help  ?  " 

Peppajee's  mouth  straightened  in  a  grin  of  pure 
irony. 

"  All  time  Baumberga  try  for  ketchum  ranch,  me 
try  for  stoppum,"  he  retorted.  "  Yo'  no  b'lievum, 
Peacefu'  no  b'lievum.  Me  tellum  yo'  cloud  sign,  tellum 
yo'  smoke  sign,  tellum  yo'  hear  much  bad  talk  for 
ketchum  ranch.  Yo'  all  time  think  for  ketchum  'Vad- 
nah  squaw.  No  think  for  stoppum  mens.  Yo'  all 
time  let  mens  come,  ketchum  ranch.  Yo'  say  fightum 
in  co't.  Cloud  sign  say  me  do  netting.  Yo'  lettum 
come.  Yo'  mebbyso  makum  go.  Me  no  care." 

"  I  see.  Well,  maybe  you  're  right."  He  tightened 
the  reins,  and  rode  away,  the  tight  little  wad  of  paper 
still  hidden  in  his  palm.  When  he  was  quite  out  of 
sight  from  the  camp  and  jogging  leisurely  down  the 
hot  trail,  he  unfolded  it  carefully,  and  looked  at  it  long. 


314  GOOD    INDIAN 

His  face  was  grave  and  thoughtful  when  at  last  he 
tore  it  into  tiny  bits  and  gave  it  to  the  hot,  desert  wind. 
It  was  a  pitiful  little  message,  printed  laboriously  upon 
a  scrap  of  brown  wrapping-paper.  It  said  simply: 

"  God  by  i  lov  yo." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    MALICE   OF    A   SQUAW 

GOOD  INDIAN"  looked  in  the  hammock,  but 
Evadna  was  not  there.  He  went  to  the  little 
stone  bench  at  the  head  of  the  pond,  and  when  he  still 
did  not  see  her  he  followed  the  bank  around  to  the  milk- 
house,  where  was  a  mumble  of  voices.  And,  standing 
in  the  doorway  with  her  arm  thrown  around  her  Aunt 
Phoebe's  shoulders  in  a  pretty  protective  manner,  he 
saw  her,  and  his  eyes  gladdened.  She  did  not  see  him 
at  once.  She  was  facing  courageously  the  three  in- 
separables, Hagar,  Viney,  and  Lucy,  squatted  at  the 
top  of  the  steps,  and  she  was  speaking  her  mind  rapidly 
and  angrily.  Good  Indian  knew  that  tone  of  old,  and 
he  grinned.  Also  he  stopped  by  the  corner  of  the 
house,  and  listened  shamelessly. 

"  That  is  not  true,"  she  was  saying  very  clearly. 
"  You  're  a  bad  old  squaw  and  you  tell  lies.  You 
ought  to  be  put  in  jail  for  talking  that  way."  She 
pressed  her  aunt's  shoulder  affection  ately.  "  Don't 
you  mind  a  word  she  says,  Aunt  Phosbe.  She  's  just  a 
mischief -making  old  hag,  and  she  —  oh,  I  'd  like  to 
beat  her ! " 


316  GOOD    INDIAN 

Hagar  shook  her  head  violently,  and  her  voice  rose 
shrill  and  malicious,  cutting  short  Evadna's  futile  de- 
fiance. 

"  Ka-a-ay  bueno,  yo' !  "  Her  teeth  gnashed  together 
upon  the  words.  "I  no  tellum  lie.  Good  Injun  him 
kill  Man-that-coughs.  All  time  I  seeum  creep,  creep, 
through  sagebrush.  All  time  I  seeum  boss  wait  where 
much  rock  grow.  I  seeum.  I  no  speakum  heap  lie. 
Speakum  true.  I  go  tell  sheriff  mans  Good  Indian 
killum  Man-that-coughs.  I  tellum — " 

"  Why  did  n't  you,  then,  when  the  sheriff  was  in 
Hartley  ?  "  Evadna  flung  at  her  angrily.  "  Because 
you  know  it 's  a  lie.  That 's  why." 

"  Yo'  thinkum  Good  Injun  love  yo',  mebbyso." 
Hagar's  witch-grin  was  at  its  malevolent  widest.  Her 
black  eyes  sparkled  with  venom.  "  Yo'  heap  fool. 
Good  Injun  go  all  time  Squaw-talk-far-off.  Speakum 
glad  word.  Good  Injun  ka-a-ay  bueno.  Love  Squaw- 
talk-far-off.  No  love  yo'.  Speakum  lies,  yo'.  Makum 
yo'  heap  cry  all  time.  Makeum  yo'  heart  bad."  She 
cackled,  and  leered  with  vile  significance  toward  the 
girl  in  the  doorway. 

"  Don't  you  listen  to  her,  honey."  It  was  Phoebe's 
turn  to  reassure. 

Good  Indian  took  a  step  forward,  his  face  white  with 
rage.  Viney  saw  him  first,  muttered  an  Indian  word 


THE  MALICE  OF  A  SQUAW  317 

of  warning,  and  the  three  sprang  up  and  backed  away 
from  his  approach. 

"  So  you  've  got  to  call  me  a  murderer ! "  he  cried, 
advancing  threateningly  upon  Hagar.  "  And  even  that 
does  n't  satisfy  you.  You  — " 

Evadna  rushed  up  the  steps  like  a  crisp  little  whirl- 
wind, and  caught  his  arm  tightly  in  her  two  hands. 

"  Grant !  We  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  You 
could  n't  do  a  thing  like  that.  Don't  we  know  ?  Don't 
pay  any  attention  to  her.  We  are  n't  going  to.  It  '11 
hurt  her  worse  than  any  kind  of  punishment  we  could 
give  her.  Oh,  she  's  a  vile  old  thing !  Too  vile  for 
words !  Aunt  Phoebe  and  I  should  n't  belittle  ourselves 
by  even  listening  to  her.  She  can't  do  any  harm  unless 
we  let  it  bother  us  —  what  she  says.  I  know  you  never 
could  take  a  human  life,  Grant.  It 's  foolish  even  to 
speak  of  such  a  thing.  It 's  just  her  nasty,  lying 
tongue  saying  what  her  black  old  heart  wishes  could  be 
true."  She  was  speaking  in  a  torrent  of  trepidation  lest 
he  break  from  her  and  do  some  violence  which  they 
would  all  regret.  She  did  not  know  what  he  could  do, 
or  would  do,  but  the  look  of  his  face  frightened  her. 

Old  Hagar  spat  viciously  at  them  both,  and  shrilled 
vituperative  sentences  —  in  her  own  tongue  fortu- 
nately ;  else  the  things  she  said  must  have  brought  swift 
retribution.  And  as  if  she  did  not  care  for  consequences 


318  GOOD   INDIAN 

and  wanted  to  make  her  words  carry  a  definite  sting, 
she  stopped,  grinned  maliciously,  and  spoke  the  choppy 
dialect  of  her  tribe. 

"  Yo'  tellum  me  shont-isham.  Mebbyso  yo'  tellum 
yo'  no  ketchum  Squaw-talk-far-off  in  sagebrush,  all  time 
Saunders  go  dead !  Me  ketchum  hair  —  Squaw-talk- 
far-off  hair.  You  like  for  see,  you  thinkum  me  tell 
lies?" 

From  under  her  blanket  she  thrust  forth  a  greasy 
brown  hand,  and  shook  triumphantly  before  them  a 
tangled  wisp  of  woman's  hair  —  the  hair  of  Miss 
Georgie,  without  a  doubt.  There  was  no  gainsaying 
that  color  and  texture.  She  looked  full  at  Evadna. 

"  Yo'  like  see,  me  show  whereum  walk,"  she  said 
grimly.  "  Good  Injun  boot  make  track,  Squaw-talk- 
far-off  little  shoe  make  track.  Me  show,  yo'  thinkum 
mebbyso  me  tell  lie.  Stoppum  in  sagebrush,  ketchum 
hair.  Me  ketchum  knife  —  Good  Injun  knife,  meb- 
byso." Revenge  mastered  cupidity,  and  she  produced 
that  also,  and  held  it  up  where  they  could  all  see. 

Evadna  looked  and  winced. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say,"  she  declared  stub- 
bornly. "You  stole  that  knife.  I  suppose  you  also 
stole  the  hair.  You  can't  make  me  believe  a  thing  like 
that !  " 

"  Squaw-talk-far-off  run,   run  heap  fas',   get  home 


THE  MALICE  OF  A  SQUAW   319 

quick.  Me  seeum,  Viney  seeum,  Lucy  seeum."  Hagar 
pointed  to  each  as  she  named  her,  and  waited  until  they 
give  a  confirmatory  nod.  The  two  squaws  gazed  stead- 
ily at  the  ground,  and  she  grunted  and  ignored  them 
afterward,  content  that  they  bore  witness  to  her  truth  in 
that  one  particular. 

"  Squaw-talk-far-off  sabe  Good  Injun  killum  Man- 
that-coughs,  mebbyso,"  she  hazarded,  watching  Good 
Indian's  face  cunningly  to  see  if  the  guess  struck  close 
to  the  truth. 

"  If  you  've  said  all  you  want  to  say,  you  better  go," 
Good  Indian  told  her  after  a  moment  of  silence  while 
they  glared  at  each  other.  "I  won't  touch  you  —  be- 
cause you  're  such  a  devil  I  could  n't  stop  short  of 
killing  you,  once  I  laid  my  hands  on  you." 

He  stopped,  held  his  lips  tightly  shut  upon  the  curses 
he  would  not  speak,  and  Evadna  felt  his  biceps  tauten 
under  her  fingers  as  if  he  were  gathering  himself  for  a 
lunge  at  the  old  squaw.  She  looked  up  beseechingly 
into  his  face,  and  saw  that  it  was  sharp  and  stern,  as 
it  had  been  that  morning  when  the  men  had  first  been 
discovered  in  the  orchard.  He  raised  his  free  arm,  and 
pointed  imperiously  to  the  trail. 

"  Pikeway!"  he  commanded. 

Viney  and  Lucy  shrank  from  the  tone  of  him,  and, 
hiding  their  faces  in  a  fold  of  blanket,  slunk  silently 


320  GOOD    INDIAN 

away  like  dogs  that  have  been  whipped  and  told  to  go. 
Even  Hagar  drew  back  a  pace,  hardy  as  was  her  un- 
tamed spirit.  She  looked  at  Evadna  clinging  to  his  arm, 
her  eyes  wide  and  startlingly  blue  and  horrified  at  all 
she  had  heard.  She  laughed  then  —  did  Hagar  —  and 
waddled  after  the  others,  her  whole  body  seeming  to 
radiate  contentment  with  the  evil  she  had  wrought. 

"  There  'B  nothing  on  earth  can  equal  the  malice  of 
an  old  squaw,"  said  Phoebe,  breaking  into  the  silence 
which  followed.  "  I  do  hope  she  don't  go  around 
peddling  that  story  —  not  that  anyone  would  believe 
it,  but— " 

Good  Indian  looked  at  her,  and  at  Evadna.  He 
opened  his  lips  for  speech,  and  closed  them  without  say- 
ing a  word.  That  near  he  came  to  telling  them  the 
truth  about  meeting  Miss  Georgie,  and  explaining  about 
the  hair  and  the  knife  and  the  footprints  Hagar  had 
prated  about.  But  he  thought  of  Rachel,  and  knew 
that  he  would  never  tell  anyone,  not  even  Evadna.  The 
girl  loosened  his  arm,  and  moved  toward  her  aunt. 

"  I  hate  Indians  —  squaws  especially,"  she  said  posi- 
tively. "  I  hate  the  way  they  look  at  one  with  their 
beady  eyes,  just  like  snakes.  I  believe  that  horrid  old 
thing  lies  awake  nights  just  thinking  up  nasty,  wicked 
lies  to  tell  about  the  people  she  does  n't  like.  I  don't 
think  you  ought  to  ride  around  alone  so  much,  Grant; 


THE  MALICE  OF  A  SQUAW   321 

she  might  murder  you.  It 's  in  her  to  do  it,  if  she  ever 
got  the  chance." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  made  her  ring  Georgie  How- 
ard in  like  that  ? "  Phrebe  speculated,  looking  at  Grant. 
"  She  must  have  some  grudge  against  her,  too." 

"  I  don't  know  why."  Good  Indian  spoke  unguard- 
edly, because  he  was  still  thinking  of  Rachel  and  those 
laboriously  printed  words  which  he  had  scattered  afar. 
"  She  's  always  giving  them  candy  and  fruit,  whenever 
they  show  up  at  the  station." 

"  Oh-h !  "  Evadna  gave  the  word  that  peculiar,  slid- 
ing inflection  of  hers  which  meant  so  much,  and  re- 
garded him  unwinkingly,  with  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her. 

Good  Indian  knew  well  the  meaning  of  both  her 
tone  and  her  stare,  but  he  only  laughed  and  caught  her 
by  the  arm. 

"  Come  on  over  to  the  hammock,"  he  commanded, 
with  all  the  arrogance  of  a  lover.  "  We  're  making  that 
old  hag  altogether  too  important,  it  seems  to  me.  Come 
on,  Goldilocks  —  we  have  n't  had  a  real  satisfying  sort 
of  scrap  for  several  thousand  years." 

She  permitted  him  to  lead  her  to  the  hammock,  and 
pile  three  cushions  behind  her  head  and  shoulders  — 
with  the  dark-blue  one  on  top  because  her  hair  looked 
well  against  it  —  and  dispose  himself  comfortably 


GOOD    INDIAN 

where  he  could  look  his  fill  at  her  while  he  swung  the 
hammock  gently  with  his  boot-heel,  scraping  a  furrow 
in  the  sand.  But  she  did  not  show  any  dimples,  though 
his  eyes  and  his  lips  smiled  together  when  she  looked  at 
him,  and  when  he  took  up  her  hand  and  kissed  each 
finger-tip  in  turn,  she  was  as  passive  as  a  doll  under  the 
caresses  of  a  child. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  he  demanded,  when  he  found 
that  her  manner  did  not  soften.  "  Worrying  still  about 
what  that  old  squaw  said  ? " 

"  Not  in  the  slightest."  Evadna's  tone  was  perfectly 
polite  —  which  was  a  bad  sign. 

Good  Indian  thought  he  saw  the  makings  of  a  quarrel 
in  her  general  attitude,  and  he  thought  he  might  as  well 
get  at  once  to  the  real  root  of  her  resentment. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  Tell  me,  Goldi- 
locks," he  coaxed,  pushing  his  own  troubles  to  the  back 
of  his  mind. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I  was  just  wondering  —  though  it 's 
a  trivial  matter  which  is  hardly  worth  mentioning  — 
but  I  just  happened  to  wonder  how  you  came  to  know 
that  Georgie  Howard  is  in  the  habit  of  giving  candy  to 
the  squaws  —  or  anything  else.  I'm  sure  /  never — " 
She  bit  her  lips  as  if  she  regretted  having  said  so 
much. 

Good  Indian  laughed.    In  truth,  he  was  immensely 


THE  MALICE  OF  A  SQUAW  323 

relieved;  he  had  been  afraid  she  might  want  him  to 
explain  something  else  —  something  which  he  felt  he 
must  keep  to  himself  even  in  the  face  of  her  anger. 
But  this  —  he  laughed  again. 

"  That 's  easy  enough,"  he  said  lightly.  "  I  've  seen 
her  do  it  a  couple  of  times.  Maybe  Hagar  has  been 
keeping  an  eye  on  me  —  I  don't  know ;  anyway,  when 
I  've  had  occasion  to  go  to  the  store  or  to  the  station, 
I  've  nearly  always  seen  her  hanging  around  in  the 
immediate  vicinity.  I  went  a  couple  of  times  to  see 
Miss  Georgie  about  this  land  business.  She  's  wise  to 
a  lot  of  law  —  used  to  help  her  father  before  he  died,  it 
seems.  And  she  has  some  of  his  books,  I  discovered.  I 
wanted  to  see  if  there  was  n't  some  means  of  kicking 
these  fellows  off  the  ranch  without  making  a  lot  more 
trouble  for  old  Peaceful.  But  after  I  'd  read  up  and 
talked  the  thing  over  with  her,  we  decided  that  there 
was  n't  anything  to  be  done  till  Peaceful  comes  back, 
and  we  know  what  he  's  been  doing  about  it.  That 's 
what 's  keeping  him,  of  course. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  added,  looking  at  her  frankly,  "  I 
should  have  mentioned  my  going  there.  But  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  did  n't  think  anything  much  about  it.  It  was 
just  business,  and  when  I  'm  with  you,  Miss  Goldilocks, 
I  like  to  forget  my  troubles.  You,"  he  declared,  his 
eyes  glowing  upon  her,  "  are  the  antidote.  And  you 


324  GOOD    INDIAN 

would  n't  have  me  believe  you  could  possibly  be 
jealous !  " 

"  No,"  said  Evadna,  in  a  more  amiable  tone.  "  Of 
course  I  'm  not.  But  I  do  think  you  showed  a  —  well, 
a  lack  of  confidence  in  me.  I  don't  see  why  I  can't 
help  you  share  your  troubles.  You  know  I  want  to. 
I  think  you  should  have  told  me,  and  let  me  help.  But 
you  never  do.  Just  for  instance  —  why  would  n't  you 
tell  me  yesterday  where  you  were  before  breakfast  ?  I 
know  you  were  somewhere,  because  I  looked  all  over  the 
place  for  you,"  she  argued  naively.  "  I  always  want 
to  know  where  you  are,  it 's  so  lonesome  when  I  don't 
know.  And  you  see — " 

She  was  interrupted  at  that  point,  which  was  not 
strange.  The  interruption  lasted  for  several  minutes, 
but  Evadna  was  a  persistent  little  person.  When  they 
came  back  to  mundane  matters,  she  went  right  on  with 
what  she  had  started  out  to  say. 

"  You  see,  that  gave  old  Hagar  a  chance  to  accuse 
you  of  —  well,  of  a  meeting  with  Georgie.  Which  I 
don't  believe,  of  course.  Still,  it  does  seem  as  if  you 
might  have  told  me  in  the  first  place  where  you  had 
been,  and  then  I  could  have  shut  her  up  by  letting  her 
see  that  I  knew  all  about  it.  The  horrid,  mean  old 
thing!  To  say  such  things,  right  to  your  face !  And  — 
Grant,  where  did  she  get  hold  of  that  knife,  do  you 


THE  MALICE  OF  A  SQUAW   325 

suppose  —  and  —  that  —  bunch  of  —  hair  ?  "  She 
took  his  hand  of  her  own  accord,  and  patted  it,  and 
Evadna  was  not  a  demonstrative  kind  of  person  usually. 
"  It  was  n't  just  a  tangle,  like  combings,"  she  went 
on  slowly.  "  I  noticed  particularly.  There  was  a  lock 
as  large  almost  as  my  finger,  that  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  cut  off.  And  it  certainly  was  Georgie's  hair." 

"  Georgie's  hair,"  Good  Indian  smilingly  asserted, 
"  does  n't  interest  me  a  little  bit.  Maybe  Hagar  scalped 
Miss  Georgie  to  get  it.  If  it  had  been  goldy,  I  'd  have 
taken  it  away  from  her  if  I  had  to  annihilate  the  whole 
tribe,  but  seeing  it  was  n't  your  hair  — " 

Well,  the  argument  as  such  was  a  poor  one,  to  say 
the  least,  but  it  had  the  merit  of  satisfying  Evadna  as 
mere  logic  could  not  have  done,  and  seemed  to  allay  as 
well  all  the  doubt  that  had  been  accumulating  for  days 
past  in  her  mind.  But  an  hour  spent  in  a  hammock 
in  the  shadiest  part  of  the  grove  could  not  wipe  out  all 
memory  of  the  past  few  days,  nor  quiet  the  uneasiness 
which  had  come  to  be  Good  Indian's  portion. 

"  I  Ve  got  to  go  up  on  the  hill  again  right  after 
dinner,  Squaw-with-sun-hair,"  he  told  her  at  last.  "  I 
can't  rest,  somehow,  as  long  as  those  gentlemen  are 
camping  down  in  the  orchard.  You  won't  mind,  will 
you  ? "  Which  shows  that  the  hour  had  not  been  spent 
in  quarreling,  at  all  events. 


326  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  Certainly  not,"  Evadna  replied  calmly.  "  Because 
I  'm  going  with  you.  Oh,  you  need  n't  get  ready  to 
shake  your  head !  I  'm  going  to  help  you,  from  now  on, 
and  talk  law  and  give  advice  and  '  scout  around,'  as  you 
call  it.  I  could  n't  be  easy  a  minute,  with  old  Hagar 
on  the  warpath  the  way  she  is.  I  'd  imagine  all  sorts 
of  things." 

"  You  don't  realize  how  hot  it  is,"  he  discouraged. 

"  I  can  stand  it  if  you  can.  And  I  have  n't  seen 
Georgie  for  days.  She  must  get  horribly  lonesome,  and 
it's  a  perfect  shame  that  I  haven't  been  up  there 
lately.  I  'm  sure  she  would  n't  treat  me  that  way." 
Evadna  had  put  on  her  angelic  expression.  "  I  would 
go  oftener,"  she  declared  virtuously,  "  only  you  boys 
always  go  off  without  saying  anything  about  it,  and  I  'm 
silly  about  riding  past  that  Indian  camp  alone.  That 
squaw  —  the  one  that  caught  Huckleberry  the  other 
day,  you  know  —  would  hardly  let  go  of  the  bridle.  I 
was  scared  to  death,  only  I  would  n't  let  her  see.  I  be- 
lieve now  she  's  in  with  old  Hagar,  Grant.  She  kept 
asking  me  where  you  were,  and  looked  so  — " 

"  I  think,  on  the  whole,  we  'd  better  wait  till  after 
supper  when  it 's  cooler,  Goldenhair,"  Good  Indian  ob- 
served, when  she  hesitated  over  something  she  had  not 
quite  decided  to  say.  "  I  suppose  I  really  ought  to  stay 
and  help  the  boys  with  that  clover  patch  that  Mother 


THE  MALICE  OF  A  SQUAW   327 

Hart  is  worrying  so  about.  I  guess  she  thinks  we  're 
a  lazy  bunch,  all  right,  when  the  old  man  's  gone.  We  '11 
go  up  this  evening,  if  you  like." 

Evadna  eyed  him  with  open  suspicion,  but  if  she 
could  read  his  real  meaning  from  anything  in  his  face 
or  his  eyes  or  his  manner,  she  must  have  been  a  very 
keen  observer  indeed. 

Good  Indian  was  meditating  what  he  called  "  making 
a  sneak."  He  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  Miss  Georgie 
himself,  and  he  certainly  did  not  want  Evadna,  of  all 
people,  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  For  just  a  minute 
he  wished  that  they  had  quarreled  again.  He  went 
down  to  the  stable,  started  to  saddle  Keno,  and  then 
decided  that  he  would  not.  After  all,  Hagar's  gossip 
could  do  no  real  harm,  he  thought,  and  it  could  not  make 
much  difference  if  Miss  Georgie  did  not  hear  of  it 
immediately. 


CHAPTEK  XXIV 

PEACEFUL  RETURNS 

THAT  afternoon  when  the  four-thirty-five  rushed 
in  from  the  parched  desert  and  slid  to  a  panting 
halt  beside  the  station  platform,  Peaceful  Hart  emerged 
from  the  smoker,  descended  quietly  to  the  blistering 
planks,  and  nodded  through  the  open  window  to  Miss 
Georgie  at  her  instrument  taking  train  orders. 

Behind  him  perspired  Baumberger,  purple  from  the 
heat  and  the  beer  with  which  he  had  sought  to  allay  the 
discomfort  of  that  searing  sunlight. 

"  Howdy,  Miss  Georgie  ? "  he  wheezed,  as  he  passed 
the  window.  "  Ever  see  such  hot  weather  in  your  life  ? 
/  never  did." 

Miss  Georgie  glanced  at  him  while  her  fingers  rattled 
her  key,  and  it  struck  her  that  Baumberger  had  lost  a 
good  deal  of  his  oily  amiability  since  she  saw  him  last. 
He  looked  more  flabby  and  loose-lipped  than  ever,  and 
his  leering  eyes  were  streaked  plainly  with  the  red 
veins  which  told  of  heavy  drinking.  She  gave  him  a 
nod  cool  enough  to  lower  the  thermometer  several  de- 
grees, and  scribbled  away  upon  the  yellow  pad  under  her 


PEACEFUL    RETURNS       329 

hand  as  if  Baumberger  had  sunk  into  the  oblivion  her 
temper  wished  for  him.  She  looked  up  immediately, 
however,  and  leaned  forward  so  that  she  could  see  Peace- 
ful just  turning  to  go  down  the  steps. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hart !  Will  you  wait  a  minute  ? "  she 
called  clearly  above  the  puffing  of  the  engine.  "  I  've 
something  for  you  here.  Soon  as  I  get  this  train  out  — " 
She  saw  him  stop  and  turn  back  to  the  office,  and  let  it 
go  at  that  for  the  present. 

"  I  sure  have  got  my  nerve,"  she  observed  mentally 
when  the  conductor  had  signaled  the  engineer  and 
swung  up  the  steps  of  the  smoker,  and  the  wheels  were 
beginning  to  clank.  All  she  had  for  Peaceful  Hart  in 
that  office  was  anxiety  over  his  troubles.  "  Just  held 
him  up  to  pry  into  his  private  affairs,"  she  put  it 
bluntly  to  herself.  But  she  smiled  at  him  brightly, 
and  waited  until  Baumberger  had  gone  lumbering  with 
rather  uncertain  steps  to  the  store,  where  he  puffed 
up  the  steps  and  sat  heavily  down  in  the  shade  where 
Pete  Hamilton  was  resting  after  the  excitement  of  the 
past  thirty-six  hours. 

"  I  lied  to  you,  Mr.  Hart,"  she  confessed,  engagingly. 
"  I  have  n't  a  thing  for  you  except  a  lot  of  questions, 
and  I  simply  must  ask  them  or  die.  I  'm  not  just 
curious,  you  know.  I  'm  horribly  anxious.  Won't  you 
take  the  seat  of  honor,  please  ?  The  ranch  won't  run  off 


330  GOOD    INDIAN 

if  you  aren't  there  for  a  few  minutes  after  you  had 
expected  to  be.  I  Ve  been  waiting  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  you,  and  I  simply  could  n't  let  the  opportunity  go 
by."  She  talked  fast,  but  she  was  thinking  faster,  and 
wondering  if  this  calm,  white-bearded  old  man  thought 
her  a  meddlesome  fool. 

"  There 's  time  enough,  and  it  ain't  worth  much 
right  now,"  Peaceful  said,  sitting  down  in  the  berib- 
boned  rocker  and  stroking  his  beard  in  his  deliberate 
fashion.  "  It  seems  to  be  getting  the  fashion  to  be 
anxious,"  he  drawled,  and  waited  placidly  for  her  to 
speak. 

"  You  just  about  swear  by  old  Baumberger,  don't 
you  ?  "  she  began  presently,  fiddling  with  her  lead  pencil 
and  going  straight  to  the  heart  of  what  she  wanted  to 
say. 

"  Well,  I  dunno.  I  've  kinda  learned  to  fight  shy 
of  swearing  by  anybody,  Miss  Georgie."  His  mild  blue 
eyes  settled  attentively  upon  her  flushed  face. 

"  That 's  some  encouragement,  anyhow,"  she  sighed. 
"  Because  he  's  the  biggest  old  blackguard  in  Idaho  and 
more  treacherous  than  any  Indian  ever  could  be  if  he 
tried.  I  just  thought  I  'd  tell  you,  in  case  you  did  n't 
know  it.  I  'm  certain  as  I  can  be  of  anything,  that  he 's 
at  the  bottom  of  this  placer-claim  fraud,  and  he  's  just 
digging  your  ranch  out  from  under  your  feet  while  he 


PEACEFUL    RETURNS       331 

wheedles  you  into  thinking  he 's  looking  after  your  in- 
terests. I  '11  bet  you  never  got  an  injunction  against 
those  eight  men,"  she  hazarded,  leaning  toward  him  with 
her  eyes  sparkling  as  the  subject  absorbed  all  her 
thoughts.  "  1 11  bet  anything  he  kept  you  fiddling 
around  until  those  fellows  all  filed  on  their  claims, 
And  now  it 's  got  to  go  till  the  case  is  finally  settled  in 
court,  because  they  are  technically  within  their  rights 
in  making  lawful  improvements  on  their  claims. 

"  Grant,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  nearly  betrayed 
her  when  she  spoke  his  name,  "  was  sure  they  faked 
the  gold  samples  they  must  have  used  in  filing.  We 
both  were  sure  of  it.  He  and  the  boys  tried  to  catch 
them  at  some  crooked  work,  but  the  nights  have  been  too 
dark,  for  one  thing,  and  they  were  always  on  the  watch, 
and  went  up  to  Shoshone  in  couples,  and  there  was  no 
telling  which  two  meant  to  sneak  off  next.  So  they  have 
all  filed,  I  suppose.  I  know  the  whole  eight  have  been 
up—" 

"  Yes,  they  've  all  filed  —  twenty  acres  apiece  —  the 
best  part  of  the  ranch.  There  's  a  forty  runs  up  over  the 
bluff;  the  lower  line  takes  in  the  house  and  barn  and 
down  into  the  garden  where  the  man  they  call  Stanley 
run  his  line  through  the  strawberry  patch.  That  forty  's 
mine  yet.  It 's  part  uh  the  homestead.  The  meadow- 
land  is  most  all  included.  That  was  a  preemption 


332  GOOD    INDIAN 

claim."  Peaceful  spoke  slowly,  and  there  was  a  note 
of  discouragement  in  his  voice  which  it  hurt  Miss 
Georgie  to  hear. 

"  Well,  they  've  got  to  prove  that  those  claims  of 
theirs  are  lawful,  you  know.  And  if  you  've  got  your 
patent  for  the  homestead  —  you  have  got  a  patent, 
have  n't  you  ? "  Something  in  his  face  made  her  fling 
in  the  question. 

"  Y-es  —  or  I  thought  I  had  one,"  he  answered 
dryly.  "  It  seems  now  there  's  a  flaw  in  it,  and  it  'a 
got  to  go  back  to  Washington  and  be  rectified.  It  ain't 
legal  till  that 's  been  done." 

Miss  Georgie  half  rose  from  her  chair,  and  dropped 
back  despairingly.  "  Who  found  that  mistake  ? "  she 
demanded.  "  Baumberger  ?  " 

"  Y-es,  Baumberger.  He  thought  we  better  go  over 
all  the  papers  ourselves,  so  the  other  side  couldn't 
spring  anything  on  us  unawares,  and  there  was  one 
paper  that  had  n't  been  made  out  right.  So  it  had  to  be 
fixed,  of  course.  Baumberger  was  real  put  out  about  it." 

"  Oh,  of  course !  "  Miss  Georgie  went  to  the  win- 
dow to  make  sure  of  the  gentleman's  whereabouts.  He 
was  still  sitting  upon  the  store  porch,  and  he  was  just 
in  the  act  of  lifting  a  tall,  glass  mug  of  beer  to  his  gross 
mouth  when  she  looked  over  at  him.  "  Pig !  "  she 
gritted  under  her  breath.  "  It 's  a  pity  he  does  n't 


PEACEFUL   RETURNS 

drink  himself  to  death."  She  turned  and  faced  Peace- 
ful anxiously. 

"  You  spoke  a  while  ago  as  if  you  did  n't  trust  him 
implicitly,"  she  said.  "  I  firmly  believe  he  hired  those 
eight  men  to  file  on  your  land.  I  believe  he  also  hired 
Saunders  to  watch  Grant,  for  some  reason  —  perhaps 
because  Grant  has  shown  his  hostility  from  the  first. 
Did  you  know  Saunders  —  or  someone  —  has  been 
shooting  at  Grant  from  the  top  of  the  bluff  for  —  well, 
ever  since  you  left?  The  last  shot  clipped  his  hat- 
brim.  Then  Saunders  was  shot  —  or  shot  himself,  ac- 
cording to  the  inquest  —  and  there  has  been  no  more 
rifle  practice  with  Grant  for  the  target." 

"  N-no,  I  had  n't  heard  about  that."  Peaceful  pulled 
hard  at  his  beard  so  that  his  lips  were  drawn  slightly 
apart.  "  I  don't  mind  telling  yuh,"  he  added  slowly, 
"  that  I  've  got  another  lawyer  working  on  the  case  — 
Black.  He  hates  Baumberger,  and  he  'd  like  to  git 
something  on  him.  I  don't  want  Baumberger  should 
know  anything  about  it,  though.  He  takes  it  for  granted 
I  swallow  whole  everything  he  says  and  does — but  I 
don't.  Not  by  a  long  shot.  Black '11  ferret  out  any 
crooked  work." 

"  He  's  a  dandy  if  he  catches  Baumberger,"  Miss 
Georgie  averred,  gloomily.  "  I  tried  a  little  detective 
work  on  my  own  account.  I  had  n't  any  right ;  it  was 


334  GOOD    INDIAN 

about  the  cipher  messages  Saunders  used  to  send  and 
receive  so  often  before  your  place  was  jumped.  I  was 
dead  sure  it  was  old  Baumberger  at  the  other  end,  and 
I  —  well,  I  struck  up  a  mild  sort  of  flirtation  with  the 
operator  at  Shoshone."  She  smiled  deprecatingly  at 
Peaceful. 

"  I  wanted  to  find  out  —  and  I  did  by  writing  a 
nice  letter  or  two ;  we  have  to  be  pretty  cute  about  what 
we  send  over  the  wires,"  she  explained,  "  though  we  do 
talk  back  and  forth  quite  a  lot,  too.  There  was  a  news- 
agent and  cigar  man  —  you  know  that  kind  of  joint, 
where  they  sell  paper  novels  and  magazines  and  to- 
bacco and  such  —  getting  Saunders'  messages.  Jim 
Wakely  is  his  name.  He  told  the  operator  that  he  and 
Saunders  were  just  practicing;  they  were  going  to  be 
detectives,  he  said,  and  rigged  up  a  cipher  that  they 
were  learning  together  so  they  would  n't  need  any  code- 
book.  Pretty  thin  that  —  but  you  can't  prove  it  was  n't 
the  truth.  I  managed  to  find  out  that  Baumberger  buys 
cigars  and  papers  of  Jim  Wakely  sometimes;  not  al- 
ways, though." 

Miss  Georgie  laughed  ruefully,  and  patted  her  pom- 
padour absent-mindedly. 

"  So  all  I  got  out  of  that,"  she  finished,  "  was  a  cor- 
respondence I  could  very  well  do  without.  I  've  been 
trying  to  quarrel  with  that  operator  ever  since,  but  he  's 


PEACEFUL    RETURNS       335 

so  darned  easy-tempered!  "  She  went  and  looked  out 
of  the  window  again  uneasily. 

"  He  's  guzzling  beer  over  there,  and  from  the  look  of 
him  he 's  had  a  good  deal  more  than  he  needs  already," 
she  informed  Peaceful.  "  He  '11  burst  if  he  keeps  on.  I 
suppose  I  should  n't  keep  you  any  longer  —  he  's  look- 
ing this  way  pretty  often,  I  notice;  nothing  but  the 
beer-keg  holds  him,  I  imagine.  And  when  he  empties 
that — "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  sat  down 
facing  Hart. 

"Maybe  you  could  bribe  Jim  Wakely  into  giving 
something  away,"  she  suggested.  "  I  'd  sure  like  to  see 
Baumberger  stub  his  toe  in  this  deal!  Or  maybe  you 
could  get  around  one  of  those  eight  beauties  you  Ve 
got  camping  down  on  your  ranch  —  but  there  is  n't 
much  chance  of  that ;  he  probably  took  good  care  to  pick 
clams  for  that  job.  And  Saunders,"  she  added  slowly, 
"  is  eternally  silent.  Well,  I  hope  in  mercy  you  '11  be 
able  to  catch  him  napping,  Mr.  Hart." 

Peaceful  rose  stiffly,  and  took  up  his  hat  from  where 
he  had  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  I  ain't  as  hopeful  as  I  was  a  week  ago,"  he  admitted 
mildly.  "  But  if  there  's  any  justice  left  in  the  courts, 
I  '11  save  the  old  ranch.  My  wife  and  I  worked  hard  to 
make  it  what  it  is,  and  my  boys  call  it  home.  We  can't 
save  it  by  anything  but  law.  Fightin'  would  only  make 


336  GOOD    INDIAN 

a  bad  matter  worse.  I  'm  obliged  to  yuh,  Miss  Georgie, 
for  taking  such  an  interest  —  and  I  '11  tell  Black  about 
Jim  Wakely." 

"  Don't  build  any  hopes  on  Jim,"  she  warned.  "  He 
probably  does  n't  know  anything  except  that  he  sent  and 
received  messages  he  could  n't  read  any  sense  into." 

"  Well  — there  's  always  a  way  out,  if  we  can  find  it. 
Come  down  and  see  us  some  time.  We  still  got  a  house 
to  invite  our  friends  to."  He  smiled  drearily  at  her, 
gave  a  little,  old-fashioned  bow,  and  went  over  to 
join  Baumberger  and  to  ask  Pete  Hamilton  for  the 
use  of  his  team  and  buckboard. 

Miss  Georgie,  keeping  an  uneasy  vigil  over  everything 
that  moved  in  the  barren  portion  of  Hartley  which  her 
window  commanded,  saw  Pete  get  up  and  start  list- 
lessly toward  the  stable ;  saw  Peaceful  sit  down  to  wait ; 
and  then  Pete  drove  up  with  the  rig,  and  they  started 
for  the  ranch.  She  turned  with  a  startled  movement 
to  the  office  door,  because  she  felt  that  she  was  being 
watched. 

"  How,  Hagar,  and  Viney,  and  Lucy,"  she  greeted 
languidly  when  she  saw  the  three  squaws  sidle  closer, 
and  reached  for  a  bag  of  candy  for  them. 

Hagar's  greasy  paw  stretched  out  greedily  for  the 
gift,  and  placed  it  in  jealous  hiding  beneath  her  blanket, 
but  she  did  not  turn  to  go,  as  she  most  frequently  did 


PEACEFUL    RETURNS       337 

after  getting  what  she  came  for.  Instead,  she  waddled 
boldly  into  the  office,  her  eyes  searching  cunningly  every 
corner  of  the  little  room.  Viney  and  Lucy  remained 
outside,  passively  waiting.  Hagar  twitched  at  some- 
thing under  her  blanket,  and  held  out  her  hand  again; 
this  time  it  was  not  empty. 

"  Ketchum  sagebrush,"  she  announced  laconically. 
"  Mebbyso  yo'  like  for  buy  ?  " 

Miss  Georgie  stared  fixedly  at  the  hand,  and  said 
nothing.  Hagar  drew  it  under  her  blanket,  held  it 
fumbling  there,  and  thrust  it  forth  again. 

"  Ketchum  where  ketchum  hair,"  she  said,  and  her 
wicked  old  eyes  twinkled  with  malice.  "  Mebbyso  yo' 
like  for  buy?" 

Miss  Georgie  still  stared,  and  said  nothing.  Her 
under  lip  was  caught  tightly  between  her  teeth  by  now, 
and  her  eyebrows  were  pulled  close  together. 

"  Ketchum  much  track,  same  place,"  said  Hagar 
grimly.  "  Good  Injun  makeum  track  all  same  boot. 
Seeum  Good  Injun  creep,  creep  in  bushes,  all  time 
Man-that-coughs  be  heap  kill.  Yo'  buy  hair,  buy  knife, 
mebbyso  me  no  tell  me  seeum  Good  Injun.  Me  tell, 
Good  Injun  go  for  jail;  mebbyso  killum  rope."  She 
made  a  horrible  gesture  of  hanging  by  the  neck.  After- 
ward she  grinned  still  more  horribly.  "  Ketchum 
plenty  mo'  dolla,  me  no  tell,  mebbyso." 


338  GOOD    INDIAN 

Miss  Georgie  felt  blindly  for  her  chair,  and  when  she 
touched  it  she  backed  and  sank  into  it  rather  heavily. 
She  looked  white  and  sick,  and  Hagar  eyed  her  gloat- 
ingly- 

"  Yo'  no  like  for  Good  Injun  be  killum  rope,"  she 
chuckled.  "  Yo'  all  time  thinkum  heap  bueno.  Meb- 
byso  yo'  love.  Yo'  buy  ?  Yo'  payum  much  dolla  ?  " 

Miss  Georgie  passed  a  hand  slowly  over  her  eyes.  She 
felt  numb,  and  she  could  not  think,  and  she  must  think. 
A  shuffling  sound  at  the  door  made  her  drop  her  hand 
and  look  up,  but  there  was  nothing  to  lighten  her  op- 
pressive sense  of  danger  to  Grant.  Another  squaw  had 
appeared,  was  all.  A  young  squaw,  with  bright-red 
ribbons  braided  into  her  shining  black  hair,  and  great, 
sad  eyes  brightening  the  dull  copper  tint  of  her  face. 

"  You  no  be  'fraid,"  she  murmured  shyly  to  Miss 
Georgie,  and  stopped  where  she  was  just  inside  the 
door.  "  You  no  be  sad.  No  trouble  come  Good  Injun. 
I  friend." 

Hagar  turned,  and  snarled  at  her  in  short,  barking 
words  which  Miss  Georgie  could  not  understand.  The 
young  squaw  folded  her  arms  inside  her  bright,  plaid 
shawl,  and  listened  with  an  indifference  bordering 
closely  on  contempt,  one  would  judge  from  her  mask- 
like  face.  Hagar  turned  from  berating  her,  and  thrust 
out  her  chin  at  Miss  Georgie. 


PEACEFUL    RETURNS       339 

"I  go.  Sun  go  'way,  mebbyso  I  come.  Mebbyso 
yo'  heart  bad.  Me  ketchum  much  dolla  yo',  me  no 
tellum,  mebbyso.  No  ketchum,  me  tell  sheriff  mans 
Good  Injun  all  time  killum  Man-that-coughs."  Turn- 
ing, she  waddled  out,  jabbing  viciously  at  the  young 
squaw  with  her  elbow  as  she  passed,-  and  spitting  out 
some  sort  of  threat  or  command  —  Miss  Georgie  could 
not  tell  which. 

The  young  squaw  lingered,  still  gazing  shyly  at  Miss 
Georgie. 

"  You  no  be  'fraid,"  she  repeated  softly.  "  I  friend. 
I  take  care.  No  trouble  come  Good  Injun.  I  no  let 
come.  You  no  be  sad."  She  smiled  wistfully,  and  was 
gone,  as  silently  as  moved  her  shadow  before  her  on  the 
cinders. 

Miss  Georgie  stood  by  the  window  with  her  finger- 
nails making  little  red  half-moons  in  her  palms,  and 
watched  the  three  squaws  pad  out  of  sight  on  the  narrow 
trail  to  their  camp,  with  the  young  squaw  following 
after,  until  only  a  black  head  could  be  seen  bobbing 
over  the  brow  of  the  hill.  When  even  that  was  gone, 
she  turned  from  the  window,  and  stood  for  a  long  min- 
ute with  her  hands  pressed  tightly  over  her  face.  She 
was  trying  to  think,  but  instead  she  found  herself  listen- 
ing intently  to  the  monotonous  "  Ah-h  —  chuck!  ah-h 
chuck!  "  of  the  steam  pump  down  the  track,  and  to  the 


340  GOOD    INDIAN 

spasmodic  clicking  of  an  order  from  the  dispatcher  to 
the  passenger  train  two  stations  to  the  west. 

When  the  train  was  cleared  and  the  wires  idle,  she 
went  suddenly  to  the  table,  laid  her  fingers  purposefully 
upon  the  key,  and  called  up  her  chief.  It  was  another 
two  hours'  leave  of  absence  she  asked  for  "  on  urgent 
business."  She  got  it,  seasoned  with  a  sarcastic  re- 
minder that  her  business  was  supposed  to  be  with  the 
railroad  company,  and  that  she  would  do  well  to  culti- 
vate exactness  of  expression  and  a  taste  for  her  duties 
in  the  office. 

She  was  putting  on  her  hat  even  while  she  listened 
to  the  message,  and  she  astonished  the  man  at  the  other 
end  by  making  no  retort  whatever.  She  almost  ran  to 
the  store,  and  she  did  not  ask  Pete  for  a  saddle-horse; 
she  just  threw  her  office  key  at  him,  and  told  him  she 
was  going  to  take  his  bay,  and  she  was  at  the  stable 
before  he  closed  the  mouth  he  had  opened  in  amazement 
at  her  whirlwind  departure. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


BATJMBERGER  climbed  heavily  out  of  the  rig, 
and  went  lurching  drunkenly  up  the  path  to  the 
house  where  the  cool  shade  of  the  grove  was  like  para- 
dise set  close  against  the  boundary  of  the  purgatory  of 
blazing  sunshine  and  scorching  sand.  He  had  not  gone 
ten  steps  from  the  stable  when  he  met  Good  Indian  face 
to  face, 

"  Hullo,"  he  growled,  stopping  short  and  eying  him 
malevolently  with  lowered  head. 

Good  Indian's  lips  curled  silently,  and  he  stepped 
aside  to  pursue  his  way.  Baumberger  swung  his  huge 
body  toward  him. 

"  I  said  hullo.  Nothin'  wrong  in  that,  is  there  ? 
Hullo  —  d'yuhhear?" 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  "  said  Grant  shortly. 

Baumberger  leered  at  him  offensively.  "  Pretty 
Polly!  Never  learned  but  one  set  uh  words  in  his  life. 
Can't  yuh  say  anything  but  '  Go  to  the  devil ! '  when  a 
man  speaks  to  yuh  ?  Hey  ?  " 

"  I  could  say  a  whole  lot  that  you  would  n't  be  par- 


342  GOOD    INDIAN 

ticularly  glad  to  hear."  Good  Indian  stopped,  and 
faced  him,  coldly  angry.  For  one  thing,  he  knew  that 
Evadna  was  waiting  on  the  porch  for  him,  and  could 
see  even  if  she  could  not  hear;  and  Baumberger's  atti- 
tude was  insulting.  "  I  think,"  he  said  meaningly,  "  I 
would  n't  press  the  point  if  I  were  you." 

"  Giving  me  advice,  hey  ?  And  who  the  devil  are 
you?" 

"  I  would  n't  ask,  if  I  were  you.  But  if  you  really 
want  to  know,  I  'm  the  fellow  you  hired  Saunders  to 
shoot.  You  blundered  that  time.  You  should  have 
picked  a  better  man,  Mr.  Baumberger.  Saunders 
could  n't  have  hit  the  side  of  a  barn  if  he  'd  been  locked 
inside  it.  You  ought  to  have  made  sure — " 

Baumberger  glared  at  him,  and  then  lunged,  his  eyes 
like  an  animal  gone  mad. 

"  I  '11  make  a  better  job,  then ! "  he  bellowed. 
"  Saunders  was  a  fool.  I  told  him  to  get  down  next 
the  trail  and  make  a  good  job  of  it.  I  told  him  to 
kill  you,  you  lying,  renegade  Injun  —  and  if  he 
could  n't,  I  can !  Yuh  will  watch  me,  hey  ? " 

Good  Indian  backed  from  him  in  sheer  amazement. 
Epithets  unprintable  poured  in  a  stream  from  the  loose, 
evil  lips.  Baumberger  was  a  raving  beast  of  a  man.  He 
would  have  torn  the  other  to  pieces  and  reveled  in  the 
doing.  He  bellowed  forth  threats  against  Good  Indian 


Another  gun  spoke  then,  and  Baumberger  collapsed  in  the  sand. 
Page  343. 


"I'D  JUST  AS  SOON  HANG'     343 

and  the  Harts,  young  and  old,  and  vaunted  rashly  the 
things  he  meant  to  do.  Heat-mad  and  drink-mad  he 
was,  and  it  was  as  if  the  dam  of  his  wily  amiability  had 
broken  and  let  loose  the  whole  vile  reservoir  of  his 
pirate  mind.  He  tried  to  strike  Good  Indian  down 
where  he  stood,  and  when  his  blows  were  parried  he 
stopped,  swayed  a  minute  in  drunken  uncertainty,  and 
then  make  one  of  his  catlike  motions,  pulled  a  gun,  and 
fired  without  really  taking  aim. 

Another  gun  spoke  then,  and  Baumberger  collapsed 
in  the  sand,  a  quivering  heap  of  gross  human  flesh. 
Good  Indian  stood  and  looked  down  at  him  fixedly 
while  the  smoke  floated  away  from  the  muzzle  of  his  own 
gun.  He  heard  Evadna  screaming  hysterically  at  the 
gate,  and  looked  over  there  inquiringly.  Phoebe  was 
running  toward  him,  and  the  boys  —  Wally  and  Gene 
and  Jack,  from  the  blacksmith  shop.  At  the  corner 
of  the  stable  Miss  Georgie  was  sliding  from  her  saddle, 
her  riding  whip  clenched  tightly  in  her  hand  as  she  hur- 
ried to  him.  Peaceful  stood  beside  the  team,  with  the 
lines  still  in  his  hand. 

It  was  Miss  Georgie's  words  which  reached  him 
clearly. 

"  You  just  had  to  do  it,  Grant.  I  saw  the  whole 
thing.  You  had  to." 

"  Oh,  Grant  —  Grant !    What  have  you  done  ?    What 


344  GOOD    INDIAN 

have  you  done  ? "  That  was  Phoebe  Hart,  saying  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  with  a  queer,  moaning  inflec- 
tion in  her  voice. 

"  D'yuh  kill  him  ? "  Gene  shouted  excitedly,  as  he 
ran  up  to  the  spot. 

"  Yes."  Good  Indian  glanced  once  more  at  the  heap 
before  him.  "  And  I  'm  liable  to  kill  a  few  more  be- 
fore I  'm  through  with  the  deal."  He  swung  short 
around,  discovered  that  Evadna  was  clutching  his  arm 
and  crying,  and  pulled  loose  from  her  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience.  With  the  gun  still  in  his  hand,  he  walked 
quickly  down  the  road  in  the  direction  of  the  garden. 

"  He  's  mad !  The  boy  is  mad !  He 's  going  to 
kill — "  Phosbe  gave  a  sob,  and  ran  after  him,  and 
with  her  went  Miss  Georgie  and  Evadna,  white-faced, 
all  three  of  them. 

"  Come  on,  boys  —  he 's  going  to  clean  out  the  whole 
bunch !  "  whooped  Gene. 

"  Oh,  choke  off !  "  Wally  gritted  disgustedly,  glanc- 
ing over  his  shoulder  at  them.  "  Go  back  to  the  house, 
and  stay  there!  Ma,  make  Vad  quit  that  yelling,  can't 
yuh  ? "  He  looked  eloquently  at  Jack,  keeping  pace 
with  him  and  smiling  with  the  steely  glitter  in  his  eyes. 
"  Women  make  me  sick !  "  he  snorted  under  his  breath. 

Peaceful  stared  after  them,  went  into  the  stable,  and 
got  a  blanket  to  throw  over  Baumberger's  inert  body, 


'I'D  JUST  AS  SOON  HANG'     345 

stooped,  and  made  sure  that  the  man  was  dead,  with  the 
left  breast  of  his  light  negligee  shirt  all  blackened  with 
powder  and  soaked  with  blood;  covered  him  well,  and 
tied  up  the  team.  Then  he  went  to  the  house,  and  got 
the  old  rifle  that  had  killed  Indians  and  buffalo  alike, 
and  went  quickly  through  the  grove  to  the  garden.  He 
was  a  methodical  man,  and  he  was  counted  slow,  but 
nevertheless  he  reached  the  scene  not  much  behind  the 
others.  Wally  was  trying  to  send  his  mother  to  the 
house  with  Evadna,  and  neither  would  go.  Miss 
Georgie  was  standing  near  Good  Indian,  watching 
Stanley  with  her  lips  pressed  together. 

It  is  doubtful  if  Good  Indian  realized  what  the 
others  were  doing.  He  had  gone  straight  past  the 
line  of  stakes  to  where  Stanley  was  sitting  with  his  back 
against  the  lightning-stricken  apricot  tree.  Stanley  was 
smoking  a  cigarette  as  if  he  had  heard  nothing  of  the 
excitement,  but  his  rifle  was  resting  upon  his  knee  in 
such  a  manner  that  he  had  but  to  lift  it  and  take  aim. 
The  three  others  were  upon  their  own  claims,  and  they, 
also,  seemed  unobtrusively  ready  for  whatever  might 
be  going  to  happen. 

Good  Indian  appraised  the  situation  with  a  quick 
glance  as  he  came  up,  but  he  did  not  slacken  his  pace 
until  he  was  within  ten  feet  of  Stanley. 

"  You  're  across  the  dead  line,  m'  son,"  said  Stanley, 


346  GOOD    INDIAN 

with  lazy  significance.  "  And  you,  too,"  he  added, 
flickering  a  glance  at  Miss  Georgie. 

"  The  dead  line,"  said  Good  Indian  coolly,  "  is  be- 
yond the  Point  o'  Kocks.  I'd  like  to  see  you  on  the 
other  side  by  sundown." 

Stanley  looked  him  over,  from  the  crown  of  his  gray 
hat  to  the  tips  of  his  riding-boots,  and  laughed  when  his 
eyes  came  back  to  Good  Indian's  face.  But  the  laugh 
died  out  rather  suddenly  at  what  he  saw  there. 

"  Got  the  papers  for  that  ?  "  he  asked  calmly.  But  his 
jaw  had  squared. 

"  I  've  got  something  better  than  papers.  Your  boss 
is  dead.  I  shot  him  just  now.  He  's  lying  back  there 
by  the  stable."  Good  Indian  tilted  his  head  backward, 
without  taking  his  eyes  from  Stanley's  face  —  and 
Stanley's  right  hand,  too,  perhaps.  "  If  you  don't  want 
the  same  medicine,  I  'd  advise  you  to  quit." 

Stanley's  jaw  dropped,  but  it  was  surprise  which 
slackened  the  muscles. 

"You  — shot— " 

"Baumberger.    I  said  it." 

"  You  '11  hang  for  that,"  Stanley  stated  impersonally, 
without  moving. 

Good  Indian  smiled,  but  it  only  made  his  face  more 
ominous. 

"  Well,  they  can't  hang  a  man  more  than  once.    I  '11 


"I'D  JUST  AS  SOON  HANG'     347 

see  this  ranch  cleaned  up  while  I  'm  about  it.  I  'd  just 
as  soon,"  he  added  composedly,  "  be  hanged  for  nine 
men  as  for  one." 

Stanley  sat  on  his  haunches,  and  regarded  him  un- 
winkingly  for  so  long  that  Phoebe's  nerves  took  a  panic 
and  she  drew  Evadna  away  from  the  place.  The  boys 
edged  closer,  their  hands  resting  suggestively  upon  their 
gun-butts.  Old  Peaceful  half  raised  his  rifle,  and  held 
it  so.  It  was  like  being  compelled  to  watch  a  fuse  hiss 
and  shrivel  and  go  black  toward  a  keg  of  giant-powder. 

"  I  believe,  by  heck,  you  would !  "  said  Stanley  at 
last,  and  so  long  a  time  had  elapsed  that  even  Good 
Indian  had  to  think  back  to  know  what  he  meant. 
Stanley  squinted  up  at  the  sun,  hitched  himself  up  so 
that  his  back  rested  against  the  tree  more  comfortably, 
inspected  his  cigarette,  and  then  fumbled  for  a  match 
with  which  to  relight  it.  "  How  'd  you  find  out  Baum- 
berger  was  back  uh  this  deal  ? "  he  asked  curiously  and 
without  any  personal  resentment  in  tone  or  manner,  and 
raked  the  match  along  his  thigh. 

Good  Indian's  shoulders  went  up  a  little. 

"  I  knew,  and  that 's  sufficient.  The  dead  line  is 
down  past  the  Point  o'  Rocks.  After  sundown  this 
ranch  is  going  to  hold  the  Harts  and  their  friends  — 
and  no  one  else.  Tell  that  to  your  pals,  unless  you  've 
got  a  grudge  against  them !  " 


348  GOOD   INDIAN 

Stanley  held  his  cigarette  between  his  fingers,  and 
blew  smoke  through  his  nostrils  while  he  watched  Good 
Indian  turn  his  back  and  walk  away.  He  did  not  easily 
lose  his  hold  of  himself,  and  this  was,  with  him,  a  cold 
business  proposition. 

Miss  Georgie  stood  where  she  was  until  she  saw  that 
Stanley  did  not  intend  to  shoot  Good  Indian  in  the  back, 
as  he  might  have  done  easily  enough,  and  followed  so 
quickly  that  she  soon  came  up  with  him.  Good  Indian 
turned  at  the  rustling  of  the  skirts  immediately  behind 
him,  and  looked  down  at  her  somberly.  Then  he  caught 
sight  of  something  she  was  carrying  in  her  hand,  and 
he  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  that  thing  ? "  he  asked 
peremptorily. 

Miss  Georgie  blushed  very  red,  and  slid  the  thing  into 
her  pocket. 

"  Well,  every  little  helps,"  she  retorted,  with  a  miser- 
able attempt  at  her  old  breeziness  of  manner.  "  I 
thought  for  a  minute  I  'd  have  to  shoot  that  man  Stan- 
ley—  when  you  turned  your  back  on  him." 

Good  Indian  stopped,  looked  at  her  queerly,  and  went 
on  again  without  saying  a  word. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


"  T    WISH,"  said  Phoebe,  putting  her  two  hands  on 

JL  Miss  Georgie's  shoulders  at  the  gate  and  looking 
up  at  her  with  haggard  eyes,  "  you  'd  see  what  you  can 
do  with  'Vadnie.  The  poor  child  'a  near  crazy ;  she 
ain't  used  to  seeing  such  things  happen — " 

"  Where  is  she  ? "  Good  Indian  asked  tersely,  and 
was  answered  immediately  by  the  sound  of  sobbing  on 
the  east  porch.  The  three  went  together,  but  it  was 
Grant  who  reached  her  first. 

"  Don't  cry,  Goldilocks,"  he  said  tenderly,  bending 
over  her.  "  It 's  all  right  now.  There  is  n't  going  to 
be  any  more  — " 

"  Oh !  Don't  touch  me !  "  She  sprang  up  and  backed 
from  him,  horror  plain  in  her  wide  eyes.  "  Make  him 
keep  away,  Aunt  Phoebe ! " 

Good  Indian  straightened,  and  stood  perfectly  still, 
looking  at  her  in  a  stunned,  incredulous  way. 

"  Chicken,  don't  be  silly ! "  Miss  Georgie's  sane 
tones  were  like  a  breath  of  clean  air.  "  You  've  simply 


350  GOOD    INDIAN 

gone  all  to  pieces.  I  know  what  nerves  can  do  to  a 
woman  —  I  've  had  'em  myself.  Grant  is  n't  going  to 
bite  you,  and  you  're  not  afraid  of  him.  You  're  proud 
of  him,  and  you  know  it.  He  's  acted  the  man,  chicken 
—  the  man  we  knew  he  was,  all  along.  So  pull  your- 
self together,  and  let 's  not  have  any  nonsense." 

"  He  —  killed  a  man !  I  saw  him  do  it.  And  he  's 
going  to  kill  some  more.  I  might  have  known  he  was 
like  that!  I  might  have  known  when  he  tried  to  shoot 
me  that  night  in  the  orchard  when  I  was  trying  to  scare 
Gene !  I  can  show  you  the  mark  —  where  he  grazed 
my  arm!  And  he  laughed  about  it!  I  called  him  a 
savage  then  —  and  I  was  right  —  only  he  can  be  so 
nice  when  he  wants  to  be  —  and  I  forgot  about  the  In- 
dian in  him  —  and  then  he  killed  Mr.  Baumberger ! 
He  's  lying  out  there  now !  I  'd  rather  die  than  let 
him—" 

Miss  Georgie  clapped  a  hand  over  her  mouth,  and 
stopped  her.  Also,  she  gripped  her  by  the  shoulder 
indignantly. 

"  'Vadna  Ramsey,  I  'm  ashamed  o$  you !  "  she  cried 
furiously.  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  Grant,  go  on  off  some- 
where and  wait  till  she  settles  down.  Don't  stand  there 
looking  like  a  stone  image  —  did  n't  you  ever  see  a 
case  of  nerves  before  ?  She  does  n't  know  what  she  's 
saying  —  if  she  did,  she  would  n't  be  saying  it.  You 


"WHEN    THE    SUN    GOES"     351 

go  on,  and  let  me  handle  her  alone.  Men  are  just  a 
nuisance  in  a  case  like  this." 

She  pushed  Evadna  before  her  into  the  kitchen, 
waited  until  Phoebe  had  followed,  and  then  closed  the 
door  gently  and  decisively  upon  Grant.  But  not  before 
she  had  given  him  a  heartening  smile  just  to  prove  that 
he  must  not  take  Evadna  seriously,  because  she  did  not. 

"  We  'd  better  take  her  to  her  room,  Mrs.  Hart,"  she 
suggested,  "  and  make  her  lie  down  for  a  while.  That 
poor  fellow  —  as  if  he  did  n't  have  enough  on  his  hands 
without  this !  " 

"  I  'm  not  on  his  hands!  And  I  won't  lie  down!  " 
Evadna  jerked  away  from  Miss  Georgie,  and  con- 
fronted them  both  pantingly,  her  cheeks  still  wet  with 
tears.  "  You  act  as  if  I  don 't  know  what  I  'm  doing, 
and  I  do  know.  If  I  should  lie  down  for  a  million 
years,  I  'd  feel  just  the  same  about  it.  I  could  n't  bear 
him  to  touch  me !  I  — " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  shout  it,"  Miss  Georgie 
interrupted,  exasperatedly.  "  Do  you  want  him  — " 

"  To  hear  ?  I  don't  care  whether  he  does  or  not." 
Evadna  was  turning  sullen  at  the  opposition.  "  He  '11 
have  to  know  it  some  time,  won't  he  ?  If  you  think  I 
can  forgive  a  thing  like  that  and  let  — " 

"  He  had  to  do  it.  Baumberger  would  have  killed 
him.  He  had  a  perfect  right  to  kill.  He  'd  have  been 


352  GOOD    INDIAN 

a  fool  and  a  coward  if  he  had  n't.  You  come  and  lie 
down  a  while." 

"  I  won't  lie  down.  I  don't  care  if  he  did  have  to 
do  it  —  I  could  n't  love  him  afterward.  And  he  did  n't 
have  to  go  down  there  and  threaten  Stanley  —  and 
—  he'll  do  it,  too!"  She  fell  to  trembling  again. 
"  He  '11  do  it  —  at  sundown." 

Phoebe  and  Miss  Georgie  looked  at  each  other.  He 
would,  if  the  men  stayed.  They  knew  that. 

"  And  I  was  going  to  marry  him !  "  Evadna  shud- 
dered when  she  said  it,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
two  hands.  "  He  was  n't  sorry  afterward ;  you  could 
see  he  was  n't  sorry.  He  was  ready  to  kill  more  men. 
It 's  the  Indian  in  him.  He  likes  to  kill  people.  He  '11 
kill  those  men,  and  he  won't  be  a  bit  sorry  he  did  it. 
And  he  could  come  to  me  afterward  and  expect  me  — 
Oh,  what  does  he  think  I  am?  "  She  leaned  against  the 
wall,  and  sobbed. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  wailed,  lashing  herself  with  every 
bitter  thought  she  could  conjure,  "  he  killed  Saunders, 
too,  like  old  Hagar  said.  He  would  n't  tell  me  where  he 
was  that  morning.  I  asked  him,  and  he  would  n't  tell. 
He  was  up  there  killing  Saunders — " 

"  If  you  don't  shut  up,  I  '11  shake  you !  "  Miss 
Georgie  in  her  fury  did  not  wait,  but  shook  her  any- 
way as  if  she  had  been  a  ten-year-old  child  in  a  tantrum. 


'WHEN    THE    SUN    GOES"     353 

"  My  Heavens  above !  I  '11  stand  for  nerves  and  hys- 
terics, and  almost  any  old  thing,  but  you  're  going  a 
little  bit  too  far,  my  lady.  There  's  no  excuse  for  your 
talking  such  stuff  as  that,  and  you  're  not  going  to  do 
it,  if  I  have  to  gag  you !  Now,  you  march  to  your  own 
room  and  —  stay  there.  Do  you  hear  ?  And  don't  you 
dare  let  another  yip  out  of  you  till  you  can  talk  sense." 

Good  Indian  stood  upon  the  porch,  and  heard  every 
word  of  that.  He  heard  also  the  shuffle  of  feet  as  Miss 
Georgie  urged  Evadna  to  her  room  —  it  sounded  almost 
as  if  she  dragged  her  there  by  force  —  and  he  rolled  a 
cigarette  with  fingers  that  did  not  so  much  as  quiver. 
He  scratched  a  match  upon  the  nearest  post,  and  after- 
ward leaned  there  and  smoked,  and  stared  out  over  the 
pond  and  up  at  the  bluff  glowing  yellow  in  the  sunlight. 
His  face  was  set  and  expressionless  except  that  it  was 
stoically  calm,  and  there  was  a  glitter  deep  down  in  his 
eyes.  Evadna  was  right,  to  a  certain  extent  the  Indian 
in  him  held  him  quiet. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  someone  ought  to  pick  up 
Baumberger,  and  put  him  somewhere,  but  he  did  not 
move.  The  boys  and  Peaceful  must  have  stayed  down 
in  the  garden,  he  thought.  He  glanced  up  at  the  tops 
of  the  nodding  poplars,  and  estimated  idly  by  their 
shadow  on  the  bluff  how  long  it  would  be  before  sun- 
down, and  as  idly  wondered  if  Stanley  and  the  others 


354  GOOD    INDIAN 

would  go,  or  stay.  There  was  nothing  they  could  gain 
by  staying,  he  knew,  now  that  Baumberger  was  out  of 
it.  Unless  they  got  stubborn  and  wanted  to  fight.  In 
that  case,  he  supposed  he  would  eventually  be  planted 
alongside  his  father.  He  wished  he  could  keep  the  boys 
and  old  Peaceful  out  of  it,  in  case  there  was  a  fight,  but 
he  knew  that  would  be  impossible.  The  boys,  at  least, 
had  been  itching  for  something  like  this  ever  since  the 
trouble  started. 

Good  Indian  had,  not  so  long  ago,  spent  hours  in 
avoiding  all  thought  that  he  might  prolong  the  ecstasy 
of  mere  feeling.  Now  he  had  reversed  the  desire. 
He  was  thinking  of  this  thing  and  of  that,  simply 
that  he  might  avoid  feeling.  If  someone  did  n't 
kill  him  within  the  next  hour  or  so,  he  was  going 
to  feel  something  —  something  that  would  hurt  him 
more  than  he  had  been  hurt  since  his  father  died  in 
that  same  house.  But  in  the  meantime  he  need  only 
think. 

The  shadow  of  the  grove,  with  the  long  fingers  of  the 
poplars  to  point  the  way,  climbed  slowly  up  the  bluff. 
Good  Indian  smoked  another  cigarette  while  he  watched 
it.  When  a  certain  great  bowlder  that  was  like  a  minia- 
ture ledge  glowed  rosily  and  then  slowly  darkened  to  a 
chill  gray,  he  threw  his  cigarette  stub  unerringly  at  a 
lily-pad  which  had  courtesied  many  a  time  before  to  a 


"WHEN   THE    SUN   GOES"     355 

like  missile  from  his  hand,  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his 
eyes,  jumped  off  the  porch,  and  started  around  the  house 
to  the  gate  which  led  to  the  stable. 

Phoebe  came  out  from  the  sitting-room,  ran  down  the 
steps,  and  barred  his  way. 

"  Grant !  "  she  said,  and  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes,  "  don't  do  anything  rash  —  don't.  If  it 's  for 
our  sakes  —  and  I  know  it  is  —  don't  do  it.  They'll 
go,  anyway.  We  '11  have  the  law  on  them  and  make 
them  go.  But  don't  you  go  down  there.  You  let 
Thomas  handle  that  part.  You  're  like  one  of  my  own 
boys.  I  can't  let  you  go!  " 

He  looked  down  at  her  commiseratingly.  "  I  've  got 
to  go,  Mother  Hart.  I  've  made  my  war-talk."  He 
hesitated,  bent  his  head,  and  kissed  her  on  the  fore- 
head as  she  stood  looking  up  at  him,  and  went  on. 

"Grant — Grant!"  she  cried  heartbrokenly  after 
him,  and  sank  down  on  the  porch-steps  with  her  face 
hidden  in  her  arms. 

Miss  Georgie  was  standing  beside  the  gate,  looking  to- 
ward the  stable.  She  may  not  have  been  waiting  for 
him,  but  she  turned  without  any  show  of  surprise 
when  he  walked  up  behind  her. 

"  Well,  your  jumpers  seem  to  have  taken  the  hint," 
she  informed  him,  with  a  sort  of  surface  cheerfulness. 
"  Stanley  is  down  there  talking  to  Mr.  Hart  now,  and 


356  GOOD    INDIAN 

the  others  have  gone  on.  They  '11  all  be  well  over  the 
dead-line  by  sundown.  There  goes  Stanley  now.  Do 
you  really  feel  that  your  future  happiness  depends  on 
getting  through  this  gate  ?  Well  —  if  you  must  — " 
She  swung  it  open,  but  she  stood  in  the  opening. 

"  Grant,  I  —  it 's  hard  to  say  just  what  I  want  to 
say  —  but  —  you  did  right.  You  acted  the  man's  part. 
No  matter  what  —  others  —  may  think  or  say,  remem- 
ber that  I  think  you  did  right  to  kill  that  man.  And 
if  there  's  anything  under  heaven  that  I  can  do,  to  —  to 
help  —  you  '11  let  me  do  it,  won't  you  ?  "  Her  eyes  held 
him  briefly,  unabashed  at  what  they  might  tell.  Then 
she  stepped  back,  and  contradicted  them  with  a  little 
laugh.  "  I  will  get  fired  sure  for  staying  over  my 
time,"  she  said.  "  I  '11  wire  for  the  coroner  soon  as  I 
get  to  the  office.  This  will  never  come  to  a  trial,  Grant. 
He  was  like  a  crazy  man,  and  we  all  saw  him  shoot 
first" 

She  waited  until  he  had  passed  through  and  was  a 
third  of  the  way  to  the  stable  where  Peaceful  Hart 
and  his  boys  were  gathered,  and  then  she  followed 
him  briskly,  as  if  her  mind  was  taken  up  with  her 
own  affairs. 

"  It 's  a  shame  you  fellows  got  cheated  out  of  a 
scrap,"  she  taunted  Jack,  who  held  her  horse  for  her 
while  she  settled  herself  in  the  saddle.  "  You  were  all 


'WHEN    THE    SUN    GOES"     357 

spoiling  for  a  fight  —  and  there  did  seem  to  be  the 
makings  of  a  beautiful  row !  " 

Save  for  the  fact  that  she  kept  her  eyes  studiously 
turned  away  from  a  certain  place  near  by,  where  the 
dust  was  pressed  down  smoothly  with  the  weight  of 
a  heavy  body,  and  all  around  was  trampled  and  tracked, 
one  could  not  have  told  that  Miss  Georgie  remembered 
anything  tragic. 

But  Good  Indian  seemed  to  recall  something,  and 
went  quickly  over  to  her  just  in  time  to  prevent  her 
starting. 

"  Was  there  something  in  particular  you  wanted 
when  you  came  ? "  he  asked,  laying  a  hand  on  the  neck 
of  the  bay.  "  It  just  occurred  to  me  that  there  must 
have  been." 

She  leaned  so  that  the  others  could  not  hear,  and  her 
face  was  grave  enough  now. 

"  Why,  yes.  It 's  old  Hagar.  She  came  to  me  this 
afternoon,  and  she  had  that  bunch  of  hair  you  cut  off 
that  was  snarled  in  the  bush.  She  had  your  knife.  She 
wanted  me  to  buy  them  —  the  old  blackmailer!  She 
made  threats,  Grant  —  about  Saunders.  She  says  you 
—  I  came  right  down  to  tell  you,  because  I  was  afraid 
she  might  make  trouble.  But  there  was  so  much  more 
on  hand  right  here  "  —  she  glanced  involuntarily  at  the 
trampled  place  in  the  dust.  "  She  said  she  'd  come  back 


358  GOOD    INDIAN 

this  evening,  '  when  the  sun  goes  away.'  She 's  there 
now,  most  likely.  What  shall  I  tell  her?  We  can't 
have  that  story  mouthed  all  over  the  country." 

Good  Indian  twisted  a  wisp  of  mane  in  his  fingers, 
and  frowned  abstractedly. 

"  If  you  '11  ride  on  slowly,"  he  told  her,  at  last, 
straightening  the  twisted  lock,  "  I  '11  overtake  you.  I 
think  I  'd  better  see  that  old  Jezebel  myself." 

Secretly  he  was  rather  thankful  for  further  action. 
He  told  the  boys  when  they  fired  questions  at  his  hur- 
ried saddling  that  he  was  going  to  take  Miss  Georgie 
home,  and  that  he  would  be  back  before  long;  in  an 
hour,  probably.  Then  he  galloped  down  the  trail,  and 
overtook  her  at  the  Point  o'  Eocks. 

The  sun  was  down,  and  the  sky  was  a  great,  glowing 
mass  of  color.  Eound  the  second  turn  of  the  grade  they 
came  upon  Stanley,  walking  with  his  hands  thrust  in  his 
trousers  pockets  and  whistling  softly  to  himself  as  if 
he  were  thinking  deeply.  Perhaps  he  was  glad  to  be  let 
off  so  easily. 

"  Abandoning  my  claim,"  he  announced,  lightly  as 
a  man  of  his  prosaic  temperament  could  speak  upon  such 
a  subject.  "  Dem  poor  placer  mining  down  there,  if 
yuh  want  to  know !  " 

Good  Indian  scowled  at  him  and  rode  on,  because  a 
woman  rode  beside  him.  Seven  others  they  passed  far- 


'WHEN   THE    SUN   GOES"     359 

ther  up  the  hill.  Those  seven  gave  him  scowl  for  scowl, 
and  did  not  speak  a  word;  that  also  because  a  woman 
rode  beside  him.  And  the  woman  understood,  and  was 
glad  that  she  was  there. 

From  the  Indian  camp,  back  in  the  sage-inclosed  hol- 
low, rose  a  sound  of  high-keyed  wailing.  The  two  heard 
it,  and  looked  at  each  other  questioningly. 

"  Something 's  up  over  there,"  Good  Indian  said, 
answering  her  look.  "  That  sounds  to  me  like  the 
squaws  howling  over  a  death." 

"  Let's  go  and  see.  I  'm  so  late  now,  a  few  minutes 
more  won't  matter,  one  way  or  the  other."  Miss 
Georgie  pulled  out  her  watch,  looked  at  it,  and  made  a 
little  grimace.  So  they  turned  into  the  winding  trail, 
and  rode  into  the  camp. 

There  were  confusion,  and  wailing,  and  a  buzzing  of 
squaws  around  a  certain  wikiup.  Dogs  sat  upon  their 
haunches,  and  howled  lugubriously  until  someone  in 
passing  kicked  them  into  yelping  instead.  Papooses 
stood  nakedly  about,  and  regarded  the  uproar  solemnly, 
running  to  peer  into  the  wikiup  and  then  scamper  back 
to  their  less  hardy  fellows.  Only  the  bucks  stood  apart 
in  haughty  unconcern,  speaking  in  undertones  when 
they  talked  at  all.  Good  Indian  commanded  Miss 
Georgie  to  remain  just  outside  the  camp,  and  himself 

rode  in  to  where  the  bucks  were  gathered.    Then  he  saw 

-r 


360  GOOD    INDIAN 

Peppajee  sitting  beside  his  own  wikiup,  and  went  to  him 
instead. 

"  What 's  the  matter  here,  Peppajee  ? "  he  asked. 
"  Heap  trouble  walk  down  at  Hart  Ranch.  Trouble 
walk  here  all  same,  mebbyso  ?  " 

Peppajee  looked  at  him  sourly,  but  the  news  was  big, 
and  it  must  be  told. 

"  Heap  much  trouble  come.  Squaw  callum  Hagar 
make  much  talk.  Do  much  bad,  mebbyso.  Squaw 
Rachel  ketchum  bad  heart  along  yo'.  Heap  cry  all  time. 
No  sleepum,  no  eatum  —  all  time  heap  sad.  Ketchum 
bad  spirit,  mebbyso.  Ketchum  debbil.  Sun  go  'way, 
ketchum  knife,  go  Hagar  wikiup.  Killum  Hagar  — 
so."  He  thrust  out  his  arm  as  one  who  stabs.  "  Killum 
himself  —  so."  He  struck  his  chest  with  his  clenched 
fist.  "  Hagar  heap  dead.  Rachel  heap  dead.  Kay 
bueno.  Mebbyso  yo'  heap  bad  medicine.  Yo'  go." 

"  A  squaw  just  died,"  he  told  Miss  Georgie  curtly, 
when  they  rode  on.  But  her  quick  eyes  noted  a  new 
look  in  his  face.  Before  it  had  been  grave  and  stern 
and  bitter ;  now  it  was  sorrowful  instead. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

LIFE   ADJUSTS   ITSELF   AGAIN    TO   SMALL   THINGS 

THE  next  day  was  a  day  of  dust  hanging  always 
over  the  grade  because  of  much  hurried  riding 
up  and  down;  a  day  of  many  strange  faces  whose  eyes 
peered  curiously  at  the  place  where  Baumberger  fell, 
and  at  the  cold  ashes  of  Stanley's  campfire,  and  at  the 
Harts  and  their  house,  and  their  horses  and  all  things 
pertaining  in  the  remotest  degree  to  the  drama  which 
had  been  played  grimly  there  to  its  last,  tragic  "  cur- 
tain." They  stared  up  at  the  rim-rock  and  made  vari- 
ous estimates  of  the  distance  and  argued  over  the  ques- 
tion of  marksmanship,  and  whether  it  really  took  a 
good  shot  to  fire  from  the  top  and  hit  a  man  below. 

As  for  the  killing  of  Baumberger,  public  opinion  tried 
—  with  the  aid  of  various  "  plugs "  of  tobacco  and 
much  expectoration  —  the  case  and  rendered  a  unani- 
mous verdict  upon  it  long  before  the  coroner  arrived. 
"  Done  just  right,"  was  the  verdict  of  Public  Opinion, 
and  the  self-constituted  judges  manifested  their  further 
approval  by  slapping  Good  Indian  upon  the  back  when 
they  had  a  chance,  or  by  solemnly  shaking  hands  with 


362  GOOD    INDIAN 

him,  or  by  facetiously  assuring  him  that  they  would  be 
good.  All  of  which  Grant  interpreted  correctly  as 
sympathy  and  a  desire  to  show  him  that  they  did  not 
look  upon  him  as  a  murderer,  but  as  a  man  who  had  the 
courage  to  defend  himself  and  those  dear  to  him  from  a 
great  danger. 

With  everything  so  agreeably  disposed  of  according 
to  the  crude  —  though  none  the  less  true,  perhaps  — 
ethics  of  the  time  and  the  locality,  it  was  tacitly  under- 
stood that  the  coroner  and  the  inquest  he  held  in  the 
grove  beside  the  house  were  a  mere  concession  to  red 
tape.  Nevertheless  a  general  tension  manifested  itself 
when  the  jury,  after  solemnly  listening,  in  their  official 
capacity,  to  the  evidence  they  had  heard  and  discussed 
freely  hours  before,  bent  heads  and  whispered  briefly 
together.  There  was  also  a  corresponding  atmosphere 
of  relief  when  the  verdict  of  Public  Opinion  was  called 
justifiable  homicide  by  the  coroner  and  so  stamped  with 
official  approval. 

When  that  was  done  they  carried  Baumberger's  gross 
physical  shell  away  up  the  grade  to  the  station ;  and  the 
dust  of  his  passing  settled  upon  the  straggling  crowd 
that  censured  his  misdeeds  and  mourned  not  at  all,  and 
yet  paid  tribute  to  his  dead  body  with  lowered  voices 
while  they  spoke  of  him,  and  with  awed  silence  when 
the  rough  box  was  lowered  to  the  station  platform. 


LIFE    ADJUSTS    ITSELF    363 

As  the  sky  clears  and  grows  blue  and  deep  and  un- 
fathomably  peaceful  after  a  storm,  as  trees  wind-riven 
straighten  and  nod  graciously  to  the  little  cloud-boats 
that  sail  the  blue  above,  and  wave  dainty  finger-tips 
of  branches  in  bon  voyage,  so  did  the  Peaceful  Hart 
ranch,  when  the  dust  had  settled  after  the  latest  de- 
parture and  the  whistle  of  the  train  —  which  bore  the 
coroner  and  that  other  quiet  passenger  —  came  faintly 
down  over  the  rim-rock,  settle  with  a  sigh  of  relief  into 
its  old,  easy  habits  of  life. 

All,  that  is,  save  Good  Indian  himself,  and  perhaps 
one  other. 


Peaceful  cleared  his  white  mustache  and  beard  from 
a  few  stray  drops  of  coffee  and  let  his  mild  blue  eyes 
travel  slowly  around  the  table,  from  one  tanned  young 
face  to  another. 

"  Now  the  excitement 's  all  over  and  done  with,"  he 
drawled  in  his  half-apologetic  tones,  "  it  would  n't  be 
a  bad  idea  for  you  boys  to  get  to  work  and  throw  the 
water  back  where  it  belongs.  I  dunno  but  what  the 
garden  's  spoiled  already ;  but  the  small  fruit  can  be 
saved." 

"  Clark  and  I  was  going  up  to  the  Injun  camp," 
spoke  up  Gene.  "  We  wanted  to  see  — " 


364  GOOD    INDIAN 

"  You  '11  have  to  do  some  riding  to  get  there,"  Good 
Indian  informed  them  dryly.  "  They  hit  the  trail  be- 
fore sunrise  this  morning." 

"  Huh !  What  were  you  doing  up  there  that  time  of 
day?"  blurted  Wally,  eying  him  sharply. 

"  Watching  the  sun  rise."  His  lips  smiled  over  the 
retort,  but  his  eyes  did  not.  "  I  '11  lower  the  water  in 
your  milk-house  now,  Mother  Hart,"  he  promised 
lightly,  "  so  you  won't  have  to  wear  rubber-boots  when 
you  go  to  skim  the  milk."  He  gave  Evadna  a  quick, 
sidelong  glance  as  she  came  into  the  room,  and  pushed 
back  his  chair.  "  I  '11  get  at  it  right  away,"  he  said 
cheerfully,  picked  up  his  hat,  and  went  out  whistling. 
Then  he  put  his  head  in  at  the  door.  "  Say,"  he  called, 
"  does  anybody  know  where  that  long-handled  shovel 
is  ? "  Again  he  eyed  Evadna  without  seeming  to  see 
her  at  all. 

"  If  it  is  n't  down  at  the  stable,"  said  Jack  soberly, 
"  or  by  the  apple-cellar  or  somewhere  around  the  pond 
or  garden,  look  along  the  ditches  as  far  up  as  the  big 
meadow.  And  if  you  don't  run  across  it  there — " 
The  door  slammed,  and  Jack  laughed  with  his  eyes 
fast  shut  and  three  dimples  showing. 

Evadna  sank  listlessly  into  her  chair  and  regarded 
him  and  all  her  little  world  with  frank  disapproval. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  see  how  anybody  can  laugh, 


LIFE   ADJUSTS   ITSELF    365 

after  what  has  happened  on  this  place,"  she  said  dis- 
mally, "or — whistle,  after — "  Her  lips  quivered  a 
little.  She  was  a  distressed  Christmas  angel,  if  ever 
there  was  one. 

Wally  snorted.  "  Want  us  to  go  crying  around  be- 
cause the  row  's  over  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Think  Grant 
ought  to  wear  crape,  I  suppose  —  because  he  ain't  on 
ice  this  morning  —  or  in  jail,  which  he  'd  hate  a  lot 
worse.  Think  we  ought  to  go  around  with  our  jaws 
hanging  down  so  you  could  step  on  'em,  because  Baum- 
berger  cashed  in?  Huh!  All  hurts  my  feelings  is,  I 
did  n't  get  a  whack  at  the  old  devil  myself !  "  It  was  a 
long  speech  for  Wally  to  make,  and  he  made  it  with 
deliberate  malice. 

"  Now  you  're  shouting !  "  applauded  Gene,  also  with 
the  intent  to  be  shocking. 

"  That 's  the  stuff,"  approved  Clark,  grinning  at 
Evadna's  horrified  eyes. 

"  Grant  can  run  over  me  sharp-shod  and  I  won't 
say  a  word,  for  what  he  did  day  before  yesterday," 
declared  Jack,  opening  his  eyes  and  looking  straight  at 
Evadna.  "  You  don't  see  any  tears  rolling  down  my 
cheeks,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Good  Injun 's  the  stuff,  all  right.  He  'd  'a'  licked 
the  hull  damn — " 

"  Now,  Donny,  be  careful  what  language  you  use," 


366  GOOD    INDIAN 

Phoebe  admonished,  and  so  cut  short  his  high-pitched 
song  of  praise. 

"  I  don't  care  —  I  think  it 's  perfectly  awful." 
Evadna  looked  distastefully  upon  her  breakfast.  "  I 
just  can't  sleep  in  that  room,  Aunt  Phoebe.  I  tried 
not  to  think  about  it,  but  it  opens  right  that  way." 

"Huh!"  snorted  Wally.  "Board  up  the  window, 
then,  so  you  can't  see  the  fatal  spot !  "  His  gray  eyes 
twinkled.  "  I  could  dance  on  it  myself,"  he  said,  just 
to  horrify  her  —  which  he  did.  Evadna  shivered, 
pressed  her  wisp  of  handkerchief  against  her  lips,  and 
left  the  table  hurriedly. 

"  You  boys  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves !  " 
Phoebe  scolded  half-heartedly;  for  she  had  lived  long 
in  the  wild,  and  had  seen  much  that  was  raw  and  prim- 
itive. "  You  must  take  into  consideration  that  Vadnie 
is  n't  used  to  such  things.  Why,  great  grief !  I  don't 
suppose  the  child  ever  saw  a  dead  man  before  in  her 
life  —  unless  he  was  laid  out  in  church  with  flower- 
anchors  piled  knee-deep  all  over  him.  And  to  see  one 
shot  right  before  her  very  eyes  —  and  by  the  man  she 
expects  —  or  did  expect  to  marry  —  why,  you  can't 
wonder  at  her  looking  at  it  the  way  she  does.  It  is  n't 
Vadnie's  fault.  It's  the  way  she's  been  raised." 

"  Well,"  observed  Wally  in  the  manner  of  delivering 
an  ultimatum,  "  excuse  me  from  any  Eastern  raising !  " 


LIFE    ADJUSTS    ITSELF    367 

A  little  later,  Phoebe  boldly  invaded  the  secret  cham- 
bers of  Good  Indian's  heart  when  he  was  readjusting 
the  rocks  which  formed  the  floor  of  the  milk-house. 

"  Now,  Grant,"  she  began,  laying  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  as  he  knelt  before  her,  straining  at  a  heavy 
rock,  "  Mother  Hart  is  going  to  give  you  a  little  piece 
of  her  mind  about  something  that 's  none  of  her  busi- 
ness maybe." 

"  You  can  give  me  as  many  pieces  as  you  like. 
They  're  always  good  medicine,"  he  assured  her.  But 
he  kept  his  head  bent  so  that  his  hat  quite  hid  his  face 
from  her.  "  What  about  ? "  he  asked,  a  betraying 
tenseness  in  his  voice. 

"  About  Vadnie  —  and  you.  I  notice  you  don't 
speak  —  you  have  n't  that  I  Ve  seen,  since  that  day  — 
on  the  porch.  You  don't  want  to  be  too  hard  on  her, 
Grant.  Kemember  she  is  n't  used  to  such  things.  She 
looks  at  it  different.  She  's  never  seen  the  times,  as  I 
have,  where  it 's  kill  or  be  killed.  Be  patient  with  her, 
Grant  —  and  don't  feel  hard.  She  '11  get  over  it.  I 
want  — "  she  stopped  because  her  voice  was  beginning 
to  shake  " —  I  want  my  biggest  boy  to  be  happy."  Her 
hand  slipped  around  his  neck  and  pressed  his  head 
against  her  knee. 

Good  Indian  got  up  and  put  his  arms  around  her 
and  held  her  close.  He  did  not  say  anything  at  all  for 


368  GOOD    INDIAN 

a  minute,  but  when  he  did  he  spoke  very  quietly, 
stroking  her  hair  the  while. 

"  Mother  Hart,  I  stood  on  the  porch  and  heard  what 
she  said  in  the  kitchen.  She  accused  me  of  killing 
Saunders.  She  said  I  liked  to  kill  people ;  that  I  shot  at 
her  and  laughed  at  the  mark  I  made  on  her  arm.  She 
called  me  a  savage  —  an  Indian.  My  mother 's  mother 
was  the  daughter  of  a  chief.  She  was  a  good  woman; 
my  mother  was  a  good  woman ;  just  as  good  as  if  she  had 
been  white. 

"  Mother  Hart,  I  'm  a  white  man  in  everything  but 
half  my  mother's  blood.  I  don't  remember  her  —  but 
I  respect  her  memory,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  because 
she  was  my  mother.  Do  you  think  I  could  marry  a  girl 
who  thinks  of  my  mother  as  something  which  she  must 
try  to  forgive?  Do  you  think  I  could  go  to  that  girl 
in  there  and  —  and  take  her  in  my  arms  —  and  love 
her,  knowing  that  she  feels  as  she  does  ?  She  can't  even 
forgive  me  for  killing  that  beast! 

"  She  's  a  beautiful  thing  —  I  wanted  to  have  her 
for  my  own.  I  'm  a  man.  I  've  a  healthy  man's  hun- 
ger for  a  beautiful  woman,  but  I  Ve  a  healthy  man's 
pride  as  well."  He  patted  the  smooth  cheek  of  the  only 
woman  he  had  ever  known  as  a  mother,  and  stared  at 
the  rough  rock  wall  oozing  moisture  that  drip-dripped 
to  the  pool  below. 


LIFE    ADJUSTS    ITSELF    369 

"  I  did  think  I'  d  go  away  for  awhile,"  he  said  after 
a  minute  spent  in  sober  thinking.  "  But  I  never  dodged 
yet,  and  I  never  ran.  I  'm  going  to  stay  and  see  the 
thing  through,  now.  I  don't  know  — "  he  hesitated  and 
then  went  on.  "  It  may  not  last ;  I  may  have  to  suffer 
after  awhile,  but  standing  out  there,  that  day,  listen- 
ing to  her  carrying  on,  kind  of  —  oh,  I  can't  explain  it. 
But  I  don't  believe  I  was  half  as  deep  in  love  as  I 
thought  I  was.  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  against 
her ;  I  've  no  right,  for  she 's  a  thousand  times  better 
than  I  am.  But  she 's  different.  She  never  would 
understand  our  ways,  Mother  Hart,  or  look  at  life  as  we 
do;  some  people  go  through  life  looking  at  the  little 
things  that  don't  matter,  and  passing  by  the  other,  bigger 
things.  If  you  keep  your  eye  glued  to  a  microscope 
long  enough,  you  're  sure  to  lose  the  sense  of  proportion. 

"  She  won't  speak  to  me,"  he  continued  after  a  short 
silence.  "  I  tried  to  talk  to  her  yesterday  — " 

"But  you  must  remember,  the  poor  child  was  hys- 
terical that  day  when  she  went  on  so.  She  does  n't 
know  anything  about  the  realities  of  life.  She  does  n't 
mean  to  be  hard." 

"  Yesterday,"  said  Grant  with  an  odd  little  smile, 
"  she  was  not  hysterical.  It  seems  that  —  shooting  — 
was  the  last  little  weight  that  tilted  the  scale  against  me. 
I  don't  think  she  ever  cared  two  whoops  for  me,  to 


870  GOOD    INDIAN 

tell  you  the  truth.  She  's  been  ashamed  of  my  Indian 
blood  all  along ;  she  said  so.  And  I  'm  not  a  good  lover ; 
I  neglected  her  all  the  while  this  trouble  lasted,  and  I 
paid  more  attention  to  Georgie  Howard  than  I  did  to 
her  —  and  I  didn't  satisfactorily  explain  about  that 
hair  and  knife  that  Hagar  had.  And  —  oh,  it  isn't 
the  killing,  altogether!  I  guess  we  were  both  a  good 
deal  mistaken  in  our  feelings." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so,"  sighed  Phoebe,  wondering  secretly 
at  the  decadence  of  love.  An  emotion  that  could  burn 
high  and  hot  in  a  week,  flare  bravely  for  a  like  space, 
and  die  out  with  no  seared  heart  to  pay  for  the  ex- 
travagance—  she  shook  her  head  at  it.  That  was  not 
what  she  had  been  taught  to  call  love,  and  she  wondered 
how  a  man  and  a  maid  could  be  mistaken  about  so  vital 
an  emotion. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  added  with  unusual  sarcasm  for 
her,  "  you  '11  be  falling  in  love  with  Georgie  Howard, 
next  thing  anybody  knows;  and  maybe  that  will  last  a 
week  or  ten  days  before  you  find  out  you  were  mis- 
taken! " 

Good  Indian  gave  her  one  of  his  quick,  sidelong 
glances. 

"  She  would  not  be  eternally  apologizing  to  herself 
for  liking  me,  anyway,"  he  retorted  acrimoniously,  as 
if  he  found  it  very  hard  to  forgive  Evadna  her 


LIFE    ADJUSTS    ITSELF    371 

conscious  superiority  of  race  and  upbringing. 
"Squaw—" 

"Oh,  I  haven't  a  doubt  of  that!  "  Phoebe  rose  to 
the  defense  of  her  own  blood.  "  I  don't  know  as  it 's 
in  her  to  apologize  for  anything.  I  never  saw  such  a 
girl  for  going  right  ahead  as  if  her  way  is  the  only  way ! 
Bull-headed,  I'd  call  her."  She  looked  at  Good  In- 
dian afterward,  studying  his  face  with  motherly  solici- 
tude. 

"  I  believe  you  're  half  in  love  with  her  right  now 
and  don't  know  it !  "  she  accused  suddenly. 

Good  Indian  laughed  softly  and  bent  to  his  work 
again. 

"Are  you,  Grant ?  "  Phoebe  laid  a  moist  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  felt  the  muscles  sliding  smoothly  beneath 
his  clothing  while  he  moved  a  rock.  "  I  ain't  mad  be- 
cause you  and  Vadnie  fell  out ;  I  kind  of  looked  for  it 
to  happen.  Love  that  grows  like  a  mushroom  lasts 
about  as  long  —  only  I  don't  call  it  love!  You  might 
tell  me—" 

"  Tell  you  what ?"  But  Grant  did  not  look  up.  "If 
I  don't  know  it,  I  can't  tell  it."  He  paused  in  his  lift- 
ing and  rested  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  the  fingers 
dripping  water  back  into  the  spring.  He  felt  that 
Phoebe  was  waiting,  and  he  pressed  his  lips  together. 
"  Must  a  man  be  in  love  with  some  woman  all  the 


372  GOOD    INDIAN 

time  ?  "  He  shook  his  fingers  impatiently  so  that  the 
last  drops  hurried  to  the  pool. 

"  She  's  a  good  girl,  and  a  brave  girl,"  Phoebe  re- 
marked irrelevantly. 

Good  Indian  felt  that  she  was  still  waiting,  with  all 
the  quiet  persistence  of  her  sex  when  on  the  trail  of  a 
romance.  He  reached  up  and  caught  the  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  laid  it  against  his  cheek.  He  laughed 
surrender. 

"  Squaw-talk-far-off  heap  smart/'  he  mimicked  old 
Peppajee  gravely.  "  Heap  bueno."  He  stood  up  as 
suddenly  as  he  had  started  his  rock-lifting  a  few  min- 
utes before,  and  taking  Phoebe  by  the  shoulders,  shook 
her  with  gentle  insistence.  "  But  don't  make  me  fall 
out  of  one  love  right  into  another,"  he  protested 
whimsically.  "  Give  a  fellow  time  to  roll  a  cigarette, 
can't  you  ? " 


THE    END 


An  Unusual  Western  Novel 


LONESOME  LAND 


By  B.  M.  BOWER 

Illustrated  by  STANLEY  L.  WOOD.     Cloth.    $1.25  net 


There  is  plenty  of  dash  and  an  element  of  pathos  in  the 
rtory's  action,  and  the  attention  is  held  unflagging.  —  Spring- 
field Republican. 

We  recommend  the  volume  to  all  readers  who  are  fond  of 
Western  novels,  and  all  who  are  fond  of  human  nature  that's 
alive.  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

An  admirable  story.  .  .  .  The  writer  has  the  rare  faculty  of 
conveying  impressions  and  atmosphere  without  laborious  descrip- 
tion, and  his  dialogue  is  exceedingly  well  done.  —  St.  Louis  Post- 
Dispatch. 

No  novelist  has  written  of  ranch  life  in  the  Northwestern 
United  States  with  more  intimate  knowledge  and  a  truer  and 
racier  pen.  In  "  Lonesome  Land  "  the  author  has  dipped  a  little 
more  deeply  into  the  inherent  tragedies  of  "  raw,  new  lands."  . .  . 
The  pictures  of  the  region  are  as  true  as  words  can  make  them. 
— New  York  Times. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

84  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


A  Story  of  Charm  and  Checriness 


ALL  THE  WORLD  TO 
NOTHING 


By  WYNDHAM  MARTYN 
Illustrated  by  H.  H.  Leonard.     Cloth,  $1.25  net 


A  few  years  ago  Wyndham  Martyn's  first  book,  "The  Man 
Outside,"  was  one  of  the  "  best  sellers  "  of  its  season.  His  new 
novel  shows  a  distinct  advance  in  the  art  of  the  story-teller,  and 
will  make  many  new  friends  for  its  author.  Richard  Chester, 
a  young  American  of  family,  with  a  care-free  disposition  and  a 
dashing  outlook  on  life,  goes  through  all  his  money,  and  has  the 
choice  of  appealing  to  his  older  brother  for  assistance  or  work- 
ing to  avoid  starvation. 

Choosing  the  latter  alternative,  and  the  odds  against  him,  he 
pursues  his  unfaltering  way  through  many  trials  and  vicissi- 
tudes, not  afraid  to  try  labor  of  the  meanest  sort ;  and  through- 
out his  struggle  for  existence  his  hopes  are  sustained  through 
love  of  a  true-hearted  woman.  No  man  fights  more  gallantly 
than  he  for  what  is  dear  to  him ;  neither  hardship  nor  ill-success 
has  power  to  stay  his  impetuous  course. 

The  reader  must  learn  for  himself  the  place  that  a  curious 
will  and  a  chance  meeting  have  in  the  unusual  plot,  and  the 
reader  may  be  sure  of  finding  in  "  All  the  World  to  Nothing  M 
a  story  of  charm  and  cheeriness  and  unusual  appeal 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON'  STREET,  BOSTON 


C2-EU 


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405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

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